


she's touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bodyswap, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Clarke had thought arguments could actually lead to switching bodies with someone, she wouldn't have been surprised this one really did. But since that's actually impossible, waking up as Bellamy Blake is still a shock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she's touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now

It's no different from any of their other arguments, at least not at first. Clarke and Bellamy have been sniping at each other since they met, and while it's gotten more frequent since his friend Miller started dating her friend Monty, expanding their interactions from school and into social lives, they've stayed at relatively the same level of severity. They're both stubborn and like arguing; bickering is more of a habit than anything else.

What she realizes later is that they both hit deep nerves, without even realizing it, and when Bellamy yells, "You're such a fucking spoiled princess, you wouldn't last one week in my life!" she actually finds herself blinking back tears.

"Yeah, well, same to you! My life involves occasionally thinking about someone other than myself!"

If magical body switches were even remotely a thing, she wouldn't even be that surprised when she wakes up the next morning and she's Bellamy Blake. That's the exact kind of exchange that leads to a magical body switch.

They're not remotely a thing, of course, so her first thought on waking is that she went home with someone to blow off steam. That's the usual reason for waking up in an unfamiliar bed. But she's alone, and she's--something feels off.

Everything feels off, honestly.

She's disoriented when she sits, head spinning, and there's this weird weight between her legs, which are hairier than she thought they were, like she hasn't shaved in weeks, and--

And her body isn't her body.

She sees it as soon as she looks down, her broad, flat chest, all lean, tan muscle, dotted with freckles, completely unlike her actual chest. She doesn't scream or faint, but she does start _thinking_. She's always been lucky enough to be calm in a crisis. It's like her whole life was prepping her for this.

It has to be a dream, except it doesn't feel like one. Not that dreams ever do, exactly, but she's thinking too clearly, and her skin, when she touches it, feels too real, rougher than own, warm and solid.

"Bell, turn off your fucking alarm!" she hears a girl yell, and she belatedly registers the sound of an alarm, which also isn't her alarm. She looks around until she spots a phone on the table next to the bed and shuts off the noise. The phone unlocks; the background is of Bellamy Blake and a pretty girl with dark hair she's never seen, and it's only then that she looks down at herself with the idea that she might not just be some guy, she might be _Bellamy_.

She's wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxer briefs, which is not a state she's seen him in before, and her eyes catch on the bulge of his dick--her dick? Their dick?--against his underwear before she jerks them back up and looks around the room for a mirror.

Of course, it's Bellamy's face she sees looking back at her. His hair is a mess, tangled from sleep, and his expression--her expression--isn't one she's ever seen on him before, but she's Bellamy. Undeniably, clearly _Bellamy_. She's also a little blurry, and she casts around the room until she spots a pair of glasses on the same table his phone was on. She had no idea he wore glasses, but they look really hot when she puts them on. Bellamy, all sleepy and mostly naked in a pair of glasses is the stuff fantasies are made of, and the thought makes his dick twitch which is just--so far from okay that it's not on the same _planet_.

Luckily for her sanity, the door opens and the brunette from the phone sticks her head in. "Are you making breakfast or what?"

Clarke has to try a couple times before she croaks out, "What?"

"I didn't mean _or what_ as a real option," the girl huffs. "But fine, you're not even dressed, I'll do it. We're having Toaster Strudel and you can suck it."

She leaves, closing the door behind her, and Clarke looks back at the mirror. She's still Bellamy.

For whatever reason, she just assumes Bellamy is her too--he must be, right? Of course he is--so she grabs his phone to call herself and only then notices it's fucking _six-thirty_. Why the fuck is Bellamy even awake? Who gets up this early? Her phone will be in overnight do-not-disturb mode until eight, so there's no point in even calling herself yet. 

Instead she finds a pair of jeans and a shirt and pulls them on and leaves his room.

She knew that Bellamy lived off campus, but this wasn't really what she was expecting. It's a small house, a _family_ house. And then there's the girl, who looks like she's maybe sixteen, so he probably lives with his family off-campus. She knew he wasn't particularly wealthy--he makes fun of her about her own upbringing way too much for his to be similar--but it's still not what she expected at all, this worn-out little house.

Downstairs is the girl, who must be his sister. Miller's mentioned her once or twice in passing, but of course Clarke can't remember any of the vital information she should know, like her age or _her name_.

"How late were you out last night?" the sister asks, while Clarke is trying to figure out where the coffee is. 

"Uh, around midnight," she says, and the sound of Bellamy's voice, deeper and strange as it rumbles through her skull, is fucking unreal. She's going to have a breakdown at some point, right? She just needs to wait until she's alone.

His sister rolls her eyes. "You have got to stop staying out so late, dumbass."

Bellamy always leaves before the rest of them, citing vague reasons like _the drive_ or _early classes_ , even though none of them really care when he leaves or why. In a nice way, mostly. He can do want he wants.

"Yeah, yeah," she says, and finally finds a mug and coffee. "Toaster Strudel?"

"Yours is still toasting. You don't cook, you eat second, you know the rules." She squints at Clarke. "Seriously, are you okay? You know you're driving me to school today, right? I _told_ you not to go out last night. I have my stupid science project, I cannot actually take the bus."

Clarke would like to say she really thinks it over. It would be nice to be able to tell Bellamy later that she'd carefully weighed the pros and cons and decided, based on good, rational logic, to tell Bellamy's sister who she is. But she mostly panics at the idea of trying to find the high school and blurts out, "I'm not your brother." The girl just sort of blinks, and Clarke says, "Okay, this is going to sound--I don't even know how it's going to sound. But my name is Clarke, I'm--kind of friends with your brother?"

"Clarke," she repeats.

"I know how this sounds, but--I have no idea where your high school is. Can your mom or dad take you?"

The girl's jaw works, and it's clear that she said something wrong, but she has no idea what. "My mom or dad," she repeats.

"I'm sorry, I don't--" She rubs her face. "Look, I honestly just--I was hanging out with your brother last night, and this morning I woke up and I don't even know where I _am_. I know he left the bar at eleven-thirty, but I have no idea how long it took him to get home. And I don't know why he'd stay out until midnight if he was getting up this early."

"You really aren't Bell," says the girl slowly.

"I'm really not. I'm so sorry. I have no idea--this isn't possible, right? But I'm--"

"Where is he?"

"I assume he's me, but I think that's just because I watched _Freaky Friday_ a lot as a kid. My phone is in do-not-disturb mode until 8, so--I don't know. I guess I could go to the dorm and wake him up. If he's there." She rubs her face. "Fuck. Your parents can't take you to school, can they?"

"They're dead. You didn't know?"

" _Friends_ is kind of a strong word for our relationship," she admits. "We don't really chat about our families. I don't even know your name."

"Yeah, he's mentioned you." The girl worries her lip and says, "I'm Octavia."

"Clarke."

"It's nice to finally meet you." Clarke cocks her head, and Octavia smiles a little. "He's mentioned you a lot." The toaster makes a noise, and Octavia grabs the Toaster Strudel and hands it over to Clarke. "We're about twenty minutes from campus, but it's fifteen minutes to my school the other direction, so--can you drive? I mean, do you know how?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I can tell you how to get to the school, and Bell's phone can get you how to get to your dorm. We should have enough data left this month for that."

"You really believe me?" she can't help asking.

"Bell's weird, but he's not _this_ weird. I can't believe he'd try to trick me into thinking he was--" She pauses, like she's reconsidering her sentence. "Someone else," she settles on. "Not like this. He's not that good at acting."

Clarke has to smile a little. "I'll, um--I'll figure it out, okay? I'll make sure you get your brother back."

"Well," says Octavia, pragmatic. "You _have_ seen _Freaky Friday_."

*

Bellamy wakes up to someone rapping on his door, loudly. He was sure he set his alarm last night, but maybe he forgot. He was still pretty pissed at that stupid argument with Clarke, because--well, it's not exactly her fault she doesn't know the first thing about his life, it's not like he's particularly forthcoming. And, yeah, she can be an asshole, but he can too, and he _does_ know a few things about her life. Enough to be sure that even if it's better than his, it's not perfect, and whatever he said clearly hit her hard.

"I'm up, I'm up!" he calls to O. His voice sounds kind of weird, and when he rolls out of bed, something gets in his mouth. It's blonde hair, wavy, and he's sure he would have remembered if he managed to get Clarke to come home with him, so--

"Open the door!" says a guy, a guy who sounds really familiar. Creepily so. "Seriously, Bellamy, right now. It's me."

The statement doesn't do anything to clear things up, but he drags himself out of bed anyway and--his chest bounces. He looks down at himself, sees a loose black t-shirt draped over _breasts_ , and long, perfect, bare legs.

"Before you freak out too hard, _open the door_ ," says the person outside, and he figures if they're calling him by name and know he's going to freak out, they probably know what's happening more than he does.

He only briefly registers the room, which is both unfamiliar and not his, but that's less confusing than the fact that his _body_ isn't his, so it seems of secondary importance. 

When he opens the door, his body is standing in the hallway, so that's--

"What the fuck," he says. It's not his voice either, of course.

He--whoever he is--steps into the room and closes the door behind him. "You're Bellamy, right?"

"You tell me," he says, crossing his arms and then jerking back when he hits his breasts. Or--the breasts. That are currently on his body.

"I woke you up?" the other Bellamy asks.

"Yes. And if you don't tell me what's happening in thirty seconds I'm going to punch you."

The other him takes him by the shoulders and turns him so he's facing a mirror, and he's--

"Clarke?" he asks, incredulous.

"Yeah." Her expression is weirdly familiar, a _Clarke_ expression, and it looks wrong on his face. "Is it weird I'm glad you're in my body? Not, like--obviously I'd rather I was just in my body, but it would be way worse if more people were involved or I'd just stopped existing or you'd stopped existing, or--I don't know. Anything else that could have happened."

"You're in my body," he says, blank with horror. "You--what did you--how did you--" He rubs his face--her face, softer and smaller, different shape of the nose, _nothing_ like his face. "Fuck."

"Basically. Your alarm went off, your sister yelled at me to make breakfast, I freaked out for a while." She worries her lip. "I told her what happened. She wanted me to take her to school and I didn't know where it was, so I just--I told her I wasn't you and asked if your parents could take her, which I guess was enough to convince her I was telling the truth." He winces a little, and she almost smiles. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't know."

"No, it's fine. You got her to school okay?"

"Yeah. She seemed surprisingly not freaked out." Clarke glances at him, her concern on his face still fucking _unreal_. "So do you."

"Don't worry, I'm freaking out. And, uh, kind of cold. Can I get dressed? It's not like I've got anything you haven't seen before."

She surprises him with a small laugh. "Oh, yeah, of course. Uh, jeans are in the bottom drawer, bras in the top, shirts in the second." His face must give him away, because she actually _grins_. "It's just like taking a bra off, but backward."

"Shouldn't you be upset I'm going to see your boobs?" he mutters. He's thought about getting Clarke naked more than once, but not really like this. Not that it's not kind of exciting to have his own set of breasts, but--he likes them better on her, honestly.

"I assume they're not your first pair. And I already saw your chest."

He feels himself go pale, because--god, _Clarke_ is going to see _him_. All of him. In weirdly intimate ways, like--the bathroom. It's not like he really thought he had a chance with her, but--this can't help, right? Not that he's bad-looking, but dating him after this would probably be way too surreal for her.

Even if she didn't hate him.

"We have got to fucking fix this," he says, tugging on a pair of jeans and turning away from her to find a bra--oh god, she has _so many_ and a few are all black and lacy and directly out of his fantasies. He picks a plain tan one and tries to put it on without really looking down, because--it's definitely creepy to look at her breasts, right? And she's _right here_. She'll know.

Unfortunately, the place he really needs to look is behind him, because he cannot get the stupid thing to hook. He thinks he has it, but the little thingies aren't actually lined up right, and Clarke finally snorts and says, "Okay, just this once."

Her hands--his hands, and it's cosmically unfair that he's touching her for the first time and doesn't even get to be the one doing the touching--come up and get the bra clasped without any trouble. 

"Seriously," he says, finding his favorite shirt of hers, that he likes for totally non-shallow reasons. He feels better totally dressed; he's fine with seeing the same amount of cleavage he could see if they were themselves. And he's not cold anymore. "How do we fix this?"

She worries her lip again, a nervous habit she has and he doesn't, not usually. "I was thinking about, um. Last night."

He feels himself flush. "Look, I'm sorry for--"

"We were arguing, I said shitty stuff too." She offers him a small smile. "We're both total assholes when we lose our tempers, and we both lost them hard last night. No hard feelings?"

"No more than usual," he says, smiling, and she smiles back. "So--what about last night? Or was that it?"

She shakes her head. "No, I was thinking--you told me I wouldn't last a week in your shoes, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I said you wouldn't last a week in mine."

It takes him a second, and then he just stares at her, incredulous. "You don't seriously think we triggered some-- _magic curse_? Or--you cannot be serious."

"Why not? We're _in each other's bodies_ , Bellamy. I'm pretty sure any explanation we come up with for why is going to be really fucking weird."

He crosses his arms again, unthinking, and manages to not freak himself out when he feels the brush of her breasts. That's going to be weird if he does it in public. Not that he ever wants to go out in public like this, but Clarke's kind of right. There's no rational explanation for how this happened, and as irrational explanations go, hers isn't bad. "So you just want to hang out in my body for a week and hope it goes away?"

"I'm willing to try whatever else you want to fix it until then," she says. "But I think if it's more than a week we might have to tell someone other than your sister and get experimented on to fix is. No offense, but I don't want to be you for the rest of my life."

She doesn't say it in a mean way; it's almost teasing, and he finds himself smiling back. "The feeling's mutual."

"Great. So, when's your first class?"

"No way, you're not going to my classes."

"You're sure as hell not going to them. So you're either going to miss class or you're going to let me go and take notes for you."

"How's your Greek? Because that's my first class."

"Shit. Mine's art."

It shouldn't be funny, but it really, really is, and he starts laughing. She does too, after a beat, and they're still cracking up when someone knocks on the door.

Clarke freezes, glance snapping away from him. "Shit," she says, just as Raven calls, "Dude, do you have someone in there?"

She turns back to Bellamy, and he shrugs, helpless. Raven is _her_ best friend, not his. Except she kind of is right now.

"Just follow my lead, okay?" she hisses, and then opens up the door, looking sheepish. "Uh, hey, Raven."

Raven's eyebrows shoot up, and she glances past Clarke to him. He shrugs again; Clarke apparently has a plan. "You know it's like eight-thirty, right, Blake?"

"Thanks for the update," she says, in a dry tone that's probably pretty similar to the one he'd use. It's--fucking disconcerting, watching her trying to be him. "I felt bad about last night," she continues, rubbing the back of her neck, his own nervous habit now. "And I was around so I figured I'd apologize before class."

"You felt _that_ bad?" Raven asks.

"She was crying," Clarke says, and Bellamy looks away because--shit, is that true? He didn't actually make Clarke _cry_ , did he?

"Cool," says Raven, sounding unimpressed. "I'm glad making girls cry is where you draw the line."

When Bellamy doesn't say anything, Clarke shoots him a look, and he says, "It's fine," maybe too quickly. "Seriously," he adds, smiling at Raven. "He came and apologized. That's a lot of effort for Bellamy."

"Thanks," Clarke says. "I don't know why I bothered."

"So, is he coming for breakfast?" Raven asks Bellamy.

"You could ask him," he says, and Clarke snorts. "You want to come to breakfast, Bellamy?"

"I already ate," Clarke says, and then seems to reconsider. "But, uh, sure, I'll tag along, if you guys don't mind."

"Can you even eat at the dining halls?" he asks her, pointed. "You don't live on campus."

"Don't you have guest meals or something?"

"Okay, yeah. You did come all this way to apologize, I might as well buy you breakfast."

"It's the least you can do," Clarke agrees, and holds the door open for him as he leaves.

*

Clarke is sure there's something worse than having breakfast with Raven and Bellamy-in-her-body, she just hasn't figured it out yet. Raven has always been weird about Bellamy; she met him before Clarke did, fall semester of their freshman year, and about a two months, Raven just said, "So, there's this guy you should date."

"Why should I date him?"

"Well, I slept with him, and that was great, but we wouldn't really be a good couple. I'm not into bickering as foreplay."

Clarke bristled. "What makes you think I am? Also, do you really think I want to go out with your sloppy seconds?"

"I don't see what the big deal with sloppy seconds is. It means I can vouch for him being good in bed."

"I'll keep that in mind if I'm ever desperate."

But she didn't; she forgot about him entirely until the next year, when the two of them were in the same art-history class _and_ the same philosophy class, and they spent an entire semester nearly murdering each other. 

At the same time, it was the most engaged she'd ever been in her studies--even in classes she liked more--and she did kind of like him. In a weird way. Raven found out about it sophomore spring, when they ran into him at a party with Monty and Clarke was oddly delighted about it. She showed this by immediately picking a fight, but not a _bad_ fight, and she thought he'd enjoyed himself too.

And then Raven had ruined it by telling her that was the guy she'd wanted her to date freshman year, because that made it weird. And she still brings it up, so it's still weird, and it wasn't like _Bellamy_ was interested, so--

Honestly, Raven finding Bellamy in her room at eight-thirty is kind of a nightmare scenario. And it's even worse because she's going to want to talk to Clarke about it. Which means talking to _Bellamy_ about it. She's going to have to get a metric ton of dirt on him from his sister, or he'll never let her hear the end of it.

Ordinarily, she'd support just telling Raven, but--she kind of doesn't want to know what Raven's opinion on her having Bellamy's actual body would be. She'd have suggestions about what to do with it that Clarke is not prepared to contemplate out loud.

Bellamy is at least holding his own fairly well in conversation. He doesn't always say what she'd say, but he tends to say it how she'd say it, which might be more important. And Raven has class at nine on Thursdays, so she always just eats and runs, which means it's only about fifteen minutes of awkward conversation before she takes off.

"When's Greek?" Clarke asks Bellamy.

"Ten. Art?"

"Also ten." She offers him a wry smile. "Any artistic ability at all?"

"I draw Pikachu on Miller's face when he passes out sometimes." She raises his eyebrows, and he gives her a wry smile. "Dicks always just seem kinda homophobic, so--Pokemon."

"Okay, so--you cut art, I cut Greek, and we go back to the dorm and figure out a game plan?"

"We probably have to, yeah." He runs his hand through her hair, clearly confused when it behaves very differently from his hair. Clarke has to bite back on a smile. "You didn't want to tell Raven?"

"Do you want to tell Miller?"

"Fuck no," he says, so quickly it makes him blush, and Clarke has to laugh.

"Glad we're on the same page."

"I mean--if it keeps going, yeah, but--let's put it off for as long as possible, yeah?"

"Exactly." 

They lapse into silence, and Clarke is about to suggest they leave when he asks, quiet, "Did I really make you cry?"

She thinks about lying, telling him she just wanted to make it plausible for Raven, but--Raven might bring it up. "Yeah, but--it's not really your fault. I've been having a shitty week, it was just kind of the icing on the cake. And that's probably why I was fighting with you so hard anyway, so I had it coming."

"Still. I really am sorry." He wets her lips; it's weird to think he's tasting them, that he probably knows what lip gloss she wears now. He isn't wearing any makeup, and she'll probably have to do that for him.

This is going to be very, very weird.

"We should maybe just pretend to be dating," she decides, when they're back in her dorm.

"What?" he asks, sounding genuinely horrified.

"You have custody of your little sister?"

"Yeah."

"So you need to be around for her."

His jaw works a little. "Yeah, you're right."

"It's gonna be weird if I just disappear. So--new boyfriend, lots of sex. That's plausible."

"Except for the part where I'm the boyfriend." Clarke almost winces, but he adds, "Raven would never buy that you want to date me."

Clarke hesitates, but if they do this he'll find out anyway. "You were here at eight-thirty, she probably thinks we already slept together. And she's been telling me to date you since freshman year, so--"

"She has?"

Clarke shrugs, trying not to look embarrassed. "She thought we'd be good together, yeah. So she'll be too busy saying she was right to not believe you. Just say, I don't know. You came over late last night because you felt bad about the argument, I needed comfort, one thing lead to another--"

"I took advantage of your weakened state?" he asks, dubious.

"In this scenario I already wanted you," she says. 

"Still."

"Well, that's why we were awkward this morning. But then we talked and feelings and--" She waves his hand. "Dating. And we have two years of unresolved lust to deal with, so I'm crashing with you for a few days. If you have a better explanation for why we're gonna have to spend a week together, I'm all ears."

He lets out a defeated sigh. "Fine. Dating. I have to tell Raven?"

"It'd be weird if I told her."

"Yeah, okay. You get to tell Miller."

"Deal. So, let's talk schedules."

As it turns out, Bellamy is pretty busy. He's got a full class load and two jobs, one at a coffee shop near his house and one with the Classics department, which is thankfully admin stuff and not language-based. He's a double major in History and Classics, but the Greek class is the only one Clarke thinks she can't bullshit her way through.

"You're lucky I'm not pre-med anymore," she tells him as she sketches out her week. "How are you at bartending?"

"Bartending?"

"I bartend four nights a week," she says. "Wear a low-cut top and you get a lot of tips." She ducks her head. "Um, don't tell anyone. It's pretty far off campus so no one will just wander by."

"You bartend and you're not giving us free drinks?" he asks. His teasing smile looks good on her, she thinks. Not as good as it looks on him, but--it would probably weird if she was as attracted to herself as she is to him. Narcissistic and shit.

"It's, um--it's a strip club," she admits, ducking her head.

"You bartend at a strip club?"

"It's really good tips."

"Yeah, but--you're rich."

"I'm not." She looks down at the planner and taps on Monday. "That reminds me, Monday. My mom is coming to try to make peace."

"So, I hit a nerve because--"

Clarke drums her fingers on the table. Bellamy has nice hands, she's always thought, long, graceful fingers and broad palms. It's interesting to have a chance to interact with them more, in a deeply unsettling way. Clarke always thought it would be kind of cool to be a different person, to experience what it's like to see the world from a completely different perspective. But it's not supposed to ever _happen_.

"My dad died in sophomore fall," she admits, and she can see him doing the math in her head.

"The semester I was fighting with you all the time?"

"That was actually great. I had all these people treating me like I was going to break any minute, and then I'd see you and you were such a dick I could just take all my aggression on you. I probably owe you, honestly."

He laughs. "Glad I was being a useful asshole, then. So, okay. You bartend at a strip club. What nights?"

"Monday, Tuesday, Friday, Sunday."

"Okay. I can handle that. What's the thing with your mom on Monday?"

"So, um. After my dad died, my mom and I--it was rough, for a while. We didn't know how to talk to each other without him. I was having more fun in my non-major classes than anything I was doing for pre-med, so I decided to switch to art history, and she wanted to put me in counseling because she thought it was a manifestation of my grief instead of--I still think it would be great to be a doctor, but that's not what _I_ want to do. But I haven't given her a new career plan, and she--" Clarke lets out a ragged breath, and Bellamy comes to sit next to her. "It's weird being comforted by myself," she says, when he bumps their shoulders together.

"You'd think you'd be the best at it." He looks down. "So, _spoiled princess_ was--"

"Not really what I needed to hear last night, no." She runs her hand through her hair, trying to remember to do his nervous ticks instead of her own. It's weird to think about how much she knows about Bellamy, when she didn't even know his sister's _name_. "Anyway, she mostly cut me off, because--honestly, neither of us were really dealing that well with my dad's death, probably. I changed my major, she decided that life was precious, but instead of living in the moment it meant we should both work harder and I should be--the most spoiled princess I could be, honestly. Join a bunch of douchey clubs for networking and go to med school so I can be one of those successful doctors like her who goes to charity galas and all that. It sucks that we both decided we wanted totally different things for me, but--it's my life."

"And Monday she's trying to talk you back into pre-med?"

"I guess. Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'll--say I'm sick or something. It's really unfair of me to--"

"I have a meeting with CPS on Monday, so we're even."

"CPS?"

"Child Protective Services. Their annual check-up to make sure I'm taking care of my sister."

"So, we get drunk on Monday night, right?"

He laughs. "Right."

"How old is she? Your sister."

"Seven years younger than I am. Turning sixteen in a month."

"So you're twenty-three?"

"Not until June. But I took some time off after Mom died to make sure I could do college and still take care of O."

Clarke has to smile a little. "Aren't we supposed to wait until later in the bodyswap to have heart-to-hearts about our issues? Like, isn't this what makes us switch back?"

"Fuck, if this is what makes us switch back, we should have done it sooner. If talking about shit solves problems, I don't know why people always wait until later to do it." He gives her a wry smile. "Besides, we're kind of friends, right? It's pathetic we don't know this stuff about each other."

"Especially since we're going to have to be each other for the foreseeable future." She leans her head on his shoulder, which is a little awkward, because she's taller than he is, and it's his head and her shoulder and--fuck, switching bodies is really fucking _confusing_. But she thinks this, the talking thing, might have happened after that stupid fight anyway, if they could have gotten around to apologizing to each other, because--Clarke doesn't actually want to hurt Bellamy's feelings, not really. She never wants that. And once she's figured that out, there's nothing to really stop them just being friends. "So," she says. "Tell me about you."

*

Clarke has class before Bellamy does--by which he means that Clarke, herself, has a class at twelve-thirty, that Bellamy-in-Clarke's-body has to go to, before Clarke-in-Bellamy's-body has to go to his one to four marathon history class, which Clarke actually seems _excited_ about.

"I never manage to fit in history classes, it'll be fun. And Raven's going to come talk to you, I don't want to witness that."

"Oh," he says, wetting her lips. He really is unable to forget they're _her_ lips, softer than his, a little sweet because she made him put on makeup for class, because she has standards. Her lip gloss is fruity and artificial and he hates knowing that's what he'd taste if he kissed her. That was the kind of knowledge he only wanted to get from actually kissing her. "So--I'm telling her what again?"

"Just be kind of vague and evasive," Clarke says, apparently totally unconcerned. He cannot believe she's actually this nonchalant about telling her best friend that they're dating. What's going to happen when they switch back? They break up after apparently living together for a week? A week of dating Bellamy Blake getting to date Clarke Griffin, but he's the Clarke Griffin in the relationship. "She's going to be saying she told me so, so just do as few details as possible and be really casual, like--I dunno, the sex was good, which she said it would be, so she'll believe it, we're trying to figure out the rest, but I secretly kind of like you. You're confirming a bunch of shit she already thought, so you don't want to make it easy for her."

That's the other disconcerting thing, that Raven apparently called this. All his friends tease him about Clarke, because his crush is _so fucking obvious_ , but it's weird that hers do the same. Especially since Clarke just doesn't seem to think it's even a little true. It's a way to manipulate Raven and make their lives easier, not anything _true_.

"Anyway, have fun in class, pack up my stuff while I'm in your seminar, and we should talk body stuff later."

"Body stuff?"

"Going to the bathroom was weird enough, I don't want to violate any boundaries when I shower." She pushes him gently. "Go."

Of course all that really means is that Bellamy is stuck in Clarke's art-history class trying not to think about showering in her body, or her showering in his, and while it's both kind of academically interesting and actively disconcerting to find out what it feels like to be getting turned on as a girl, it's still not even close to where he wants to be with his life.

Honestly, he was sort of hoping they'd figure out how to switch back before he needed to take a shower at all. But if they're waiting a week, it's going to be unavoidable. At least Clarke wants to talk about it, instead of pretending there is no issue at all.

Clarke has to get to his coffee-shop job by four, so as soon as her class ends, he rushes back to her dorm to pack a bag.

Or, that's the plan. Raven's door is open and she calls, "Griffin!" as he passes.

He's both terrified of and excited for the Raven conversation. He doesn't want to fuck it up, which seems entirely possible, because he's going to hear all about how Raven wants him and Clarke to date, and it's hard not to be curious. And maybe a little hopeful. Even if Clarke seemed disappointingly casual about the prospect of dating him, maybe Raven has some insight.

If nothing else, it'll be nice to get some actual encouragement, instead of Miller's usual "Have you considered not antagonizing her? Just a thought." As long as he can keep it convincingly Clarke, it should be fine.

"What's up?" he asks, sticking his head into her room. He and Raven aren't exactly tight--it's always kind of hard to be that close to someone you hooked up with planning to never really see again after the semester was over, but ended up in the same friend group as anyway--but she's awesome and he's always happy to hang out.

Her room looks exactly like he would have thought, covered with half-assembled computer parts and Star Wars posters, and he has to smile.

"God, don't give me that look," she says. "I want to know what Blake was doing in your room at eight a.m. Who comes to apologize at eight a.m.? And since when do you and Bellamy apologize to each other?"

He worries Clarke's lip, like he thinks she would. "He actually came last night. We were both having a really shitty week, and--you know we never actually _hurt_ each other."

"Yeah, but that's not really the relevant point here. He stayed the night?"

"Yeah, we kind of--"

"Holy shit! Seriously? _Finally_?"

"If you're just going to be smug I'm not going to talk to you," he says, which is something Clarke has told him before.

"I know, but--dude! I'm so happy for you!"

"We haven't really talked about it yet," he admits. That's really fucking plausible. If he and Clarke hooked up, he'd probably put off talking about it as long as possible, just so she wouldn't have the opportunity to tell him it was a mistake or a one-time thing. 

Raven rolls her eyes. "I know you never believe me, but he's seriously crazy about you." Then she sobers, which is new. Genuine Raven isn't something he gets to see very often. "Look, I told you I thought you guys would be good together freshman year because I meant it. And I still think so. Don't screw this up just because you don't want me to be right. You _know_ Bellamy is a good guy, and you know how much he cares about you. Even if he doesn't show it."

"Yeah," he says, voice coming out strangled, because of course _he_ knows. He just had no idea Raven knew, and even less idea that Raven thinks Clarke knows. "I, uh. I think I'm going to his place tonight. To talk."

Raven snorts. "Talk, sure."

"That went from supportive to mocking fast," he teases.

"You know I can't keep up supportive for long. But--I'm happy for you. Seriously. I hope you guys work it out."

"Yeah. I--me too."

Clarke has a lot of clothes. If she needs money, she should just eBay this stuff, honestly, because no one person needs this much clothing. He grabs another pair of jeans, a few tank tops and t-shirts, and then opens up her underwear drawer.

He didn't really get a good look at what pair she was wearing today until he went to the bathroom, which was--weird, but not as bad as he thought it would be. Going to the bathroom is basically instinctual. He did nearly go into the men's room, but he remembered at the last minute, so--no harm, no foul.

Clarke's underwear tends toward simple and practical, mostly the kind of stuff he buys for Octavia. There are some cute patterns, but it's mostly not completely impossible to deal with.

Then he finds a vibrator in the corner of the drawer and that's--he might die. 

It's not that he didn't think Clarke--well, he wasn't _sure_ , and he hasn't actually thought about it much because he doesn't want to be creepy, but he'd sort of assumed. But now he knows what kind she likes, the one she can fuck herself with that also has a clit attachment and--god, he doesn't need to know this. He needs to _not_ know this.

He puts it back carefully and tries to not think about it, but then he hits a pair of lacy black panties that match her lacy bras and he's absolutely going to die. No one should have access to this much information about their crush.

Once the bag is done, he doesn't really have anything to do, which is a new feeling for him. He's used to his schedule being fairly packed, but Clarke has Thursday afternoons free for time in the art studio, and since he can't do that, he has absolutely nothing to do. He doesn't even have any of his books. He couldn't study even if he wanted to. But Clarke has a surprisingly good collection of graphic novels, including some he's been meaning to read, so he grabs _Persepolis_ and settles in on Clarke's fucking uncomfortable dorm bed.

She gets back only a few minutes after three, and it's a shock again, to see himself. He's never really _seen_ himself, not for so long, not like this. He's seen pictures, a few videos, himself in mirrors, but interacting with himself for extended periods of time is just fucking _weird_.

"Raven told me not to fuck it up with you and quizzed me on why I'm wearing my glasses," Clarke tells him. "I told her I didn't bring new contacts, is that a thing?"

Bellamy has to smile. "That's a thing, yeah. She, uh, she seemed really happy for you. She's going to be disappointed when you dump me."

"I'm dumping you?" Clarke asks, poking through the bag he packed with a critical eye. "Why am I doing the dumping?"

"Raven is never going to believe I dumped you," he says. "I'm crazy about you."

If Clarke notices he didn't mention that was Raven's opinion, she doesn't mention it. Instead, she says, "Okay, clothes look fine. Lucky for you, my period isn't coming up, so you don't have to worry about that. I should get makeup, I generally go all-out for my bartender shift." She grins. "That's also what the tank tops are for."

"Does that bother you?" he asks, curious.

"A little." She shrugs. "I don't know. I'm doing the job for the money, and these are people who are coming out to spend money on pretty girls. So I'm benefiting from that. And--as strip joints go, mine's a pretty good one. We've got good security, management always has the workers' backs, and Sunday night they have guys stripping, which means that some number of dudes who are insecure with their sexualities won't come at all because, you know. Gay cooties."

"So it's a good job?" he asks. "You don't worry about--I don't know. Some guy following you home or something?"

Clarke flashes him a smile. "You're worried. That's so sweet."

"I'm just wondering how much pepper spray I should bring," he grumbles.

"Don't worry, the bouncer and I are bros. He's got your back. I'd say I'd come along, but I assume I'm on watching your sister duty."

Somehow, it hadn't occurred to him. Bellamy's schedule is a finely tuned machine; he has work for the Classics department and his own classes while Octavia is at school, and she comes to hang out at the coffee shop while he's on shift there. But that's _his_ responsibility, not Clarke's.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. I'd take her with me, but--"

Clarke smiles. "Yeah, I don't want your fifteen-year-old sister going to my strip club either."

Bellamy rubs his face, still not quite used to how--soft and small it is. Of course, it hasn't even been _a day_. It would be more alarming if he was used to being Clarke. "I know she's probably old enough to just be home alone--fuck, I was babysitting her by myself when I was _ten_. But no one ever called CPS on my mom, so we never had to worry about it."

"What does a CPS visit look like?" she asks. "The one on Monday."

"Home visit. They'll ask some questions, talk to me--you--and O separately. I have one every year, and they always go fine, but--god, I hate having to prove I can take care of my sister. I've been taking care of her since she was born."

There's a pause, and then Clarke comes over and sits on the bed by his feet. "I really don't mind watching her. I like her. She seems cool. And--I seriously have no interest in ruining your life, okay? I know we're not exactly buddies, but I still--we're not buddies, but we're _friends_ , right?"

"Yeah," he says, sitting up so he's next to her instead.

"So--don't worry about it. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it. Except for your Greek class."

He laughs and gives her a quick squeeze around the shoulders. His body isn't that much taller than hers, only a few inches, but it's still kind of an awkward move. She just gives him a bright smile and stands, offering him a hand up. "Come on, I've got to get to work, right?"

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I was at a coffee shop last summer, I know how it works. And you can get a night off for once."

"I have nights off," he grumbles.

"Wednesdays and Saturdays," Clarke says. "And you come hang out with us."

"Not always," he says, trying not to blush. Seeing Clarke is usually the reward he gives himself for getting through the rest of his week. "If O can't make plans, I stay home. But, yeah, I try to keep up a social life."

"I wasn't judging," Clarke says. "But I'm glad you'll get to hang out with Octavia some. Silver lining to--all this shit."

Bellamy has to laugh. "Just for me, though."

"I don't have to see my mom on Monday. Trust me, I'm coming out ahead."

*

Clarke doesn't actually mind coffee shops, as employment goes. She would have kept her summer job, honestly, if it had paid a little better. And the shop where Bellamy works is nice, small and upscale, the kind of place where you pay for ambiance as much as quality. 

Bellamy gave her a crash course in his coworkers, so she greets Echo (made out with once, didn't work out, still friends) and Wick (engineering major, just trash talk him all the time), and gets sent to work the register because, per Wick, "Your pretty face gets the most tips for the rest of us."

It's actually been a surprisingly good day, Clarke realizes. Bellamy's history class was interesting, and it's kind of--she can't help being a little sad that she didn't get to know him sooner. She'd always sort of read his reluctance to talk about himself as aloofness or dislike of her, but it's become obvious over the course of the day that he just doesn't like telling people about his sister and all the shit he does to take care of her, like he doesn't want anyone to know how hard he's working. And she gets that, she does--it's obvious he's always looked out for his sister, and he doesn't think he's doing anything special. And, besides, even before today she knew he wasn't the kind of guy who wanted pity friendship.

It's just--it's nice. Getting to know him. Spending more time with him when they're allies instead of antagonists. She'd like to do it more often. Ideally in her own body.

So, yeah. Overall, she's feeling pretty good about her day. As well as it is possible to feel about waking up in a foreign body and having to live someone else's life.

And then Lexa shows up.

The most disconcerting part of it is that, of course, Lexa doesn't recognize her at all. Of course, when Clarke sort of gapes at her, she gets a cool raise of eyebrows, the haughty dismissiveness she remembers so well from when Lexa thought guys were trying to flirt with her.

So she pulls herself together and gives her ex a polite, customer-service smile. "Hi, what can I get you?"

"Coffee, black. Large."

"Sure!" says Clarke. 

It's probably too perky, because Wick gives her this look like she has lost her mind, and as soon as Lexa's taken care of and the line's cleared out, Wick says, "Dude."

"What?" she asks.

"Ex? You looked like you saw a ghost."

"Not mine," she lies. Or--it's not even exactly a lie. Bellamy never dated Lexa. "She used to go out with my friend Clarke."

"Oh, with _Clarke_ ," says Wick, in a way that suggests they've talked about her before. It's not as surprising as it would have been yesterday; Clarke always maintained that Raven's theory about Bellamy's crush on her was baseless, because she'd _tried_ , at first, to get Bellamy to hang out more, mentioning that she was going to the movies or a basketball game, inviting him along with the group, and he inevitably said he was _busy_. Clarke figured it was his way of saying he didn't want to see more of her, but now she knows about his sister, and how happy he seems to have the excuse to see her. And Octavia knew about her too, seemed really curious about her, quizzing her on her family and social life on the way to the high school. So--she might have been wrong about that one.

"It didn't end well," she says, although she never actually told Bellamy much about the breakup. She and Lexa dated sophomore spring, before she and Bellamy had really started hanging out, and while she's pretty sure she's alluded to a bad breakup, he wouldn't know enough details to recognize her. But Wick _probably_ doesn't know that.

"So that's why you weren't asking her for seduction tips?"

"They broke up, how much can she know?"

"They dated, so more than you."

"Yeah, yeah. How's _your_ love life, Wick?"

Wick glances around to make sure none of the customers are paying attention and then flips her off, which Clarke figures means she won the conversation.

Lexa hangs out for a while, doing something on her laptop, and Clarke manages to not look at her too much. She's not still heartbroken over Lexa; it's been almost a year, and she was never--she didn't get to the point where she thought they were going to be together forever or anything like that. But she'd thought they were going to be _more_ , and it had hurt when Lexa didn't seem to get that. When she didn't seem to care at all.

They close at ten, and Clarke gets back to Bellamy's just before eleven, between cleanup and travel time. He's on the couch, still dressed in the same clothes he's been wearing all day.

"Come on, don't you believe in pajamas? My pajamas are really comfy."

His smile is weary, but genuine; Clarke's pretty exhausted herself, and she sinks onto the couch next to him with gratitude. 

"Work go okay?"

"Mostly. The work part wasn't bad, but my ex-girlfriend showed up, so--fingers crossed we don't have to deal with that."

"Do I know your ex-girlfriend?"

"Apparently not well. She didn't say hi or anything. Which is good, I don't know what I would have done if I had to guess how you guys met or whatever."

"You want to talk about it?" he asks, voice careful.

"Yeah. Not just because--she might call you? So you should be ready for that."

"Bad breakup?"

"We started going out at the end of fall semester last year. And she was a senior, so I wasn't really expecting it to last. Which was fine, my dad had died pretty recently, I wasn't sure what I wanted. But she kept talking about grad school here, or jobs in town, and she just made it sound like she was going to stay, so I started letting myself think that. That we'd keep going. And then out of nowhere we were at a party a month before graduation and I heard her telling _someone else_ she was moving to Spain for a job. I wanted to be happy for her, you know? It was an amazing opportunity, and if she hadn't--" She scrubs her hand over her face. "If she hadn't made me think she was going to stay, I would have been. And she didn't even tell _me_ , so it was just--I felt so stupid. I'd been telling myself she wouldn't stay and I still got hurt. So, yeah. She might try to call. She was trying to make me see it her way before she left, and I just--it didn't seem worth it."

There's a long pause, but then Bellamy finally says, "So, can I just tell her to fuck off, or do you expect me to be more eloquent?"

Clarke has to laugh. "You know, use your discretion. I'm over her, I don't want her back, and I mostly just--I hate the way it made me feel, you know? I've never had much luck with dating, the guy I dated in high school cheated on me, the girl I flirted with all of freshman fall broke it off before we really started because she found out I was bi, not gay, so I wanted to be, just--above it all. Cool. I was so sure I wasn't going to get hurt again, and then I fell for it. Again."

"So you don't date anymore?" he asks, and Clarke isn't great at reading the nuance in her own voice, but it's pretty obvious he's trying for casual interest and really not getting there.

"Nah. I'm an optimist."

He snorts. "Sure you are."

She pats him on the knee, which is less awkward than it would be if he was in his own body, maybe. "So, I need a shower. What are my ground rules?"

"Uh."

"I'm not--I'm going to see you naked, I've already touched your dick, I just figure we should talk boundaries," she continues, because this conversation has to happen, and it might as well just be maximally awkward now. "You might never get another chance to experience multiple orgasms, so if you want to--"

He chokes on nothing. " _What_?"

"You're a girl. There are a couple perks." She can feel her cheeks heating up, but--he must have thought about this, right? She can't be the only one. "And realistically? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

He's recovered enough to smirk at her. "So, what I'm getting is that you want to jerk off and you'll feel better if I want to too."

"No, I feel fine about it either way," she says, and that makes him laugh. "It's up to you," she adds. "I don't want you going out and getting laid or whatever, but--whatever you want to yourself while you're, um, in me? Go ahead."

"Jesus," he says, rubbing his face. Clarke has never seen herself so pink, and it's oddly charming. "If I just say yes can we not talk about this, like, ever again?"

"Only if you mean it."

"Yeah, uh, I know you've never had a dick before, but you'd be really lucky to get through a week without having to deal with a hard-on, so--do what you need to do." He pauses and adds, "But it's actually really hard to get jizz out of the shower, so I'd recommend tissues in bed, and this conversation is over."

Clarke has to laugh. "Thanks for the tip. Sorry for putting you through that."

"No, it's cool," he says, apparently genuine. "I was feeling guilty checking out your chest when I looked down, so--"

"Ogle away," she says. "Can I take first shower?"

"Sure," he says. "I usually go in the morning."

"Do you dry your hair?"

"No, I just--" He makes a face. "How early do we need to wake up so you can deal with it?"

"Probably like an hour. To be safe."

"Fuck. We can just get up at six-thirty with O. Do you know where--I'm going to bed, do you need stuff? Do you know where everything is?"

"Where am I sleeping?"

"My room."

"Then where are you sleeping?"

"Couch."

"But it's _your room_."

"You're the guest."

"Only kind of. Your body lives here."

"I'll take the couch," he says firmly. "My body is younger than yours. You'll hurt my back sleeping on the couch."

"So, if I sleep here once we switch back, you'll let me take the couch?" she teases without thinking.

"You're planning to sleep here once we switch back?"

She can't read his voice, but it makes her blush anyway. "I could. Your sister is cool." 

"Uh huh."

"Anyway, thanks for the bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Clarke."

She's feeling good until she's in the bathroom, staring down at her--Bellamy's--stupid blue boxer-briefs.

She really _does_ believe the stuff she said. She has no idea if Bellamy wants to fool around with her body, but it's a (hopefully, please) once-in-a-lifetime experience. And she's going to be wet and naked and it's weird to get turned on by her own body, but--it's not hers, not really. She's Bellamy, and she's been trying not to check him out for two years. 

And they did talk about it. And she _does_ need to shower. So she tugs the boxers off, steps into the shower, and lets herself really check him out for the first time.

Clarke knew he was an attractive guy, but she didn't realize quite how _ripped_ Bellamy was. She'd seen it this morning, but everything was so strange and new, she hadn't been able to totally appreciate him.

And then there's his stupid dick, which is--yeah. She'd seen that too, but she'd been a lot more concerned with not totally failing to pee than checking him out. But now she's just staring, because it's--big. And thick and dark and getting hard again because she's thinking about being herself, being in his lap, grinding down against him, his mouth on her neck, his hands running up her back. It's so _vivid_.

And, yeah, now she has an actual erection to deal with, of course. And, despite Bellamy's advice, she's in the shower.

It's probably not going anywhere, so she washes off as best she can, trying to think as little as possible about the feel of Bellamy's muscles under her fingers, and the stupid, persistent arousal between her legs. She washes his hair and his face and realizes she's going to have to shave at some point, but that seems like something to worry about tomorrow. Right now, all she wants to do is get herself dry, jerk off, and go to bed. It's a lot like her usual nighttime routine, except that she won't need mechanical aid for this one. She's pretty sure she can get Bellamy's dick to work all by herself.

His room is another thing she hadn't really looked at much, or not actually taken in. It's a kid's room in a lot of ways, the same way her room at home is. He has a bunch of superhero posters on the wall and elementary- and high-school trophies on the shelves. It's nice, and she's half-hoping that it will be enough to kill the erection, but then she spots lube and tissues on his bedside table, and the the thought of him sprawled out with his hand on his dick is all it takes to get her hard again.

It's really, really surreal, and if it lasts more than a couple weeks, they're gonna get into dysmorphia issues. For now, though--

She slicks up Bellamy's hand with the lube and manages to keep her groan of pleasure at the first tug quiet. It's really fucking _different_ from getting herself off, but it still feels good, and once she's used to the new angle it takes to jerk herself off instead of someone else, it's a lot faster too. Not as intense, not as long, and messier, but she's still a little jealous that it's so quick and straightforward.

She stares at the ceiling, breathing hard, coming down. It's--really not how she ever would have thought she'd jerk Bellamy off. Ever.

Well, at least she knows she can do it now. Just in case she ever gets the opportunity later.

She grabs the Kleenex, cleans off, and tugs on a clean pair of boxers--black, and Bellamy is going to be the death of her--and rolls over in his bed. It's a lot nicer than her bed, too. She'd totally want to sleep here, if the two of them were dating.

It's her last conscious thought, and she falls asleep smiling.

*

Part of Bellamy was hoping he'd just wake up in his own body, possibly on Thursday again, the whole day a very vivid dream, except--he'd be pretty bummed if none of the stuff with Clarke had actually happened. He thinks they might actually be friends after this. He thinks she might actually go out with him, if he doesn't fuck it up. 

When he wakes up, he's still Clarke, so at least he's safe from dream-related time travel. He lurches into the kitchen in Clarke's kind of maddeningly tiny pajama shorts and tank top and gets coffee going and finds bacon. He can't always be bothered to cook, especially when he wakes up with O, but--he's stuck in his crush's body. He fucking deserves bacon.

O comes in a few minutes later and pours them both coffee, staying quiet until he's had about half the mug in one epic chug. Clarke might have an even worse caffeine addiction than he does. 

"Did she pick that outfit, or did you?" Octavia finally asks.

"She did. I forgot to pack pajamas."

Last night had involved _a lot_ of teasing from his sister, which hadn't been all bad. Clarke's not wrong that he doesn't get a lot of time with O; Sundays are their day together, since she supports his going to hang out with friends on his nights off. He appreciates it, but it means they don't see each other as much as they used to, before she was old enough to be left alone every now and then.

"This is really fucking weird," O points out.

"You think it's bad for you, just think about how it is for me and Clarke."

"Isn't this awesome for you?" she asks. She's at least considerate enough to make sure Clarke isn't around before adding, "Being your crush?"

"One, shut up. Two, no, why would I want to be my crush? And she's _me_. It sucks. We're hanging out more than we ever have and I don't even get to see her."

O thinks it over and then inclines her head. "Okay, yeah. That does sound kinda--that would be weird."

"This is what I'm saying. Did you hear if she was awake? She's supposed to do my hair so I don't embarrass her in front of everyone."

" _So weird_. I'll go check on her if you guys give me a ride today."

"We got up early because we have shit to do, you know. I didn't know anyone in her class yesterday, it was so awkward. We need to do more planning."

It's a moot point anyway; Clarke slouches in before he finishes talking, wearing jeans and an old t-shirt he didn't know he still had, sporting two days of stubble and his stupid glasses.

"You know you need to put some effort into my upkeep too, right?"

"How much do you think I'd cut myself trying to shave without you at least consulting?"

"Okay, fine. Glasses?"

"I like the glasses. And I've never worn contacts either. Again, I'm calling in a consult."

He frowns. "And the shirt?"

"What's wrong with the shirt? I like this shirt. I don't know why you stopped wearing it."

"It's too small and there's a hole in the armpit. I thought I threw it out."

"So I won't lift up my arms. And it's definitely not too small. It looks really good on you."

It's unfortunately not a point he can argue, given he hasn't worn the shirt since he was a sophomore and Clarke apparently liked it enough to dig it out of the dark recesses of his dresser, so--he should really put it back in rotation.

"Fine. Anyway, I need to shower and get my hair and makeup done, and Clarke needs to shave and get contacts. This is why we can't give you a ride, O," he adds, to his sister.

"You guys are the worst." She pauses and then says, "Sorry, Clarke. I probably don't know you well enough to say that yet."

"Nah, you're fine. I'm in your brother's body, that means we're practically family, right? And we are depriving you of a ride. We're basically monsters."

"Shut up and eat your bacon," Bellamy says, giving them both plates, and it's almost a nice, domestic moment with his baby sister and the girl he likes, except for the whole switched bodies thing.

It gets worse when he goes to shower. He'd avoided being naked by wearing his bra to bed and he'd steadfastly kept his eyes up when he changed the rest of his clothes, which--it doesn't even make _sense_. Clarke told him she didn't mind, gave him complete permission to touch her however he wanted, and she probably jerked off last night, which he really doesn't mind and is honestly kind of into. The biggest problem he has with that is he wants to ask her, like, what she thought and how she liked his dick and if it was good, which would be awkward. He's pretty sure you're not supposed to ask people inhabiting your body for feedback on your genitals. It's just rude.

There's really no avoiding it, so he gets the water warm and then strips out of the pajamas and climbs under the stream. Clarke doesn't have a _ton_ of hair, probably less than Octavia, but it's still more hair than he has ever had in his entire life, and it seems like a huge pain. It was itching the back of his neck all yesterday, and now there is so much of it to get wet and shampoo and try to deal with to avoid looking at Clarke's naked body.

He manages it for about thirty seconds, and then he gives up. He's just--she doesn't _mind_ , and part of him wants to be able to brag later that he was a gentleman, but she won't _care_. And he really, really wants to play with her breasts. Just a little. To see if it feels good, for (hopefully) future reference.

He basically knew Clarke's breasts were fantastic, but it's different to see them up close, to get his hands on them. And--okay, it's a little bit hot that they're _her_ hands. She probably does this to herself in the shower too, when she's at home or somehwere more private than the dorm, groping and playing with her nipples and--

He stops mostly because they have a ton of shit to do, and he really does not have time to explore the full implications of touching Clarke. He finishes with the stupid hair thing, using O's fancy conditioner because girl hair is probably delicate or something? He doesn't know, but he assumes Clarke doesn't just use Pert Plus and move on with her life like he does. She probably has some kind of actual hair-care regimen, and he's not going to fuck it up. He also washes the rest of her, in as detached a way as he possibly can, given it involves touching her all over and she's so fucking hot.

But, again. He's got other shit to do.

"So, uh--how does your hair work?" he asks, when he gets back to Clarke. And the whole thing is--surprisingly nice. Clarke dries and brushes his hair, and puts it up in a braid when he mentions the itching on his neck. They chat about their schedules for the day--Bellamy has one class, then work for the Classics department, then a coffee shop shift, while Clarke has two classes and then a few hours to kill before she goes to her bartending job--and fill each other in on potential issues they might run into. It feels intimate, like they're a team.

"Have you come up with any ideas on how to fix this other than waiting?" Clarke asks, when he's helping her shave. It should feel really cool, being so close, but--he's just really close to _himself_. It's hard to get that excited about it.

"O googled it some last night," he says. "She thinks we should make out."

"That would be weird."

"That's what I told her. I don't want to make out with myself."

"At least I like girls. Not, you know, _me_ , but--I'm generally into it. You're straight, right?" He nods, and she worries her lip, making him smile. It's still Clarke in there. It's nice to be reminded. "She might be right. We might as well _try_. Although-- _Freaky Friday_ was about a mother and daughter. They definitely didn't make out to fix stuff. That would be even creepier than us making out."

"So, what did they do?"

"The daughter agreed to marry her mom's fiance even though that's gross, so--maybe we _should_ be creepy."

"Wash your face," he tells her, and she does and surveys herself in the mirror. It makes his heart flip over a little, seeing her studying his face with such intensity. 

"Do I really have to do contacts? What if something goes wrong with them? I don't want to be at the coffee shop and one of the contacts, like--stabs me in the eye."

"You don't really know how contacts work, do you?" he asks, amused. "Fine, don't wear them. Just say you ran out and haven't had a chance to pick up more yet."

"Awesome," she says. "Okay, I'm just going to--"

And then she kisses him.

It is absolutely nothing like kissing Clarke Griffin. It's like kissing a guy, which he did once, freshman year, during truth or dare, and it's not, like, the worst thing in the world, but it's also not how he hoped it would be, kissing her. He still kisses back, because, obviously, he doesn't want Clarke to think he's a bad kisser or anything. They make out for a minute, just to make sure it's not going to take, and then Clarke sighs.

"Worth a shot, right?"

"Yup," he agrees. "Any other ideas?"

"I'm pretty sure running into each other repeatedly isn't a good idea."

"That was my next suggestion."

Clarke grins. "So, we just need to, you know. Come to truly appreciate each other and make sacrifices for each other's good."

"Great. Anything I can sacrifice for you?"

"Again, you are having lunch with my mother. I owe you forever." She checks the mirror, fiddling a little with his hair and then nodding, like she's satisfied. "You're so low upkeep. You just roll out of bed and look awesome. I'm not saying I want to be you forever, I'm just saying I'm jealous." Before he can ask her to say he looks awesome again, so he can maybe record it or something, she smiles and pats him on the arm. "Are you ready for another day of being Clarke Griffin?"

"As I'll ever be."

*

Friday is easier. Clarke only has one class to go to, and it's Mythology in Music, which Clarke was actually thinking about taking. She gets in a fight with some vaguely familiar douchey kid about glossing over homosexual relationships in mythology, which she's briefly worried about, but then she remembers she's _Bellamy_ , and he loves getting in fights with people as much as she does, so it's in-character. Jasper, who's in the class, even says, "Dude, can't you go _a week_ without yelling at Murphy?"

"Nope," she says, unrepentant, and Jasper just rolls his eyes.

His shift at the Classics department is also pretty straightforward, a lot of filing with a very pretty girl who's kind of trying to flirt. Bellamy just told her that he works with Roma on Fridays and she's pretty cool, so either he hasn't noticed or doesn't care that she's into him. And it could be for all sorts of reasons, but--Clarke kind of thinks it's because he's not interested. Because he's into Clarke.

She's trying not to think about it, because it's not like they can really do anything right now. She's into girls, but--kissing herself is too weird, and even when she could kind of forget it was _her_ she was kissing, it still wasn't like kissing Bellamy. And he doesn't even like guys, and--yeah. It's just not what she wants.

Bellamy texts after her last class of the day, which is around one. _I have so much free time right now. What do you do with free time?_

Clarke bites back on a smile; Bellamy's not a big smiler. It would be suspicious if he was in too good a mood. _Netflix? Reading? I assume you read for fun a lot._

 _Raven wants to talk about how the sex was_.

_She's had sex with you, so she will be able to fact-check. Just use your best judgement._

Clarke doesn't really have time to go hang out with him between shifts; she's going straight from here to the coffee shop, and then by the time she finishes there, Bellamy will be bartending until two a.m. She shouldn't be so sad about the prospect of not seeing him for a few hours; she almost never sees him. But they're a team right now, and she doesn't like not seeing him.

Maybe it's his brain. Maybe his brain still remembers it's into her.

Maybe Raven has been right all year. Maybe she's been into Bellamy for a while.

 _I'm telling her I ruined you for all other men_ , he texts.

 _That's cool, I've still got women to work with._ She worries her lip and then adds, _You should come hang out at the coffee shop. Your coworker Wick would die._

As soon as she sends the text, she wishes she could take it back, because she didn't mention what Wick said, but there's only a slight pause before Bellamy texts back, _Yeah, they'll think it's weird if O doesn't show up two days in a row._

She's grinning all the way back to her dorm, and she feels like a fucking idiot. She's going to ruin Bellamy's broody asshole reputation.

And, of course, just like yesterday, Raven yells, "Blake!"

"Again?" she asks, leaning against Raven's door.

"Two nights in a row?" She frowns. "Did she fuck you so hard you couldn't put in contacts?"

"She likes my glasses," Clarke says. "I thought you wanted me dating Clarke, why are you yelling at me?"

Raven looks actually genuinely conflicted, and then she says, "Come in and close the door, okay?"

Clarke does, a little warily. Raven crosses her arms and regards her; Clarke tries to figure out what Bellamy would do in this situation, and crosses her own arms and looks right back. "What?" she asks.

"How much do you know about Clarke's dating life?"

"I know she has a shitty ex-girlfriend," Clarke says, because that's the one thing she's told Bellamy.

"She has two shitty ex-girlfriends," Raven says, which means Clarke is now going to have to tell Bellamy her dating history, since apparently Raven is going to be protective. "And a shitty ex-boyfriend. She could use someone good, okay? Me, I think that's you. You gonna prove me wrong?"

"It's been two days," Clarke hedges.

"You like her, right?"

Clarke feels so sure sometimes, but--telling Raven is something else. She doesn't want to put Bellamy in an awkward spot if they switch back and he doesn't want to keep doing this. Or--start doing this. They're not even really dating right now.

Fuck, she really needs her own body back. Immediately.

"It's new, Raven," he says. "Seriously. But I'm not going to hurt her, okay? I know we don't act like it, but--we really don't like hurting each other."

Raven snorts. "God, you guys are so fucking perfect for each other. She said the exact same thing." Clarke can't help a stupid, soppy grin, and, yeah. She is making Bellamy into a totally pathetic lovesick idiot. "Yeah, you're gonna be fine. You know Clarke has work tonight, right? You can't just get laid forever."

"You act like getting laid stops being possible after two a.m."

It's the wrong thing to say, because Raven gives her a sharp look immediately. "You know where she works?"

"She told me, yeah."

"Huh. So she likes you too."

"Can I go yet? Are we done?"

"Yeah, we're done. Remember to hydrate."

Clarke's door is closed when she tries it, which surprises her until she remembers Bellamy's never lived in dorms and also doesn't actually know anyone, so he probably put up with about ten minutes of people passing by and trying to hang out before he locked the door and made some sort of blanket fort to hide in.

"Hey, it's me," she says, knocking on the door.

"One sec," says Bellamy, and then he's at the door, a little flushed, his hair coming out of the braid in wisps. He looks very _satisfied_ , in a familiar way. Clarke raises her eyebrows, and he gives her a half smile and shrugs. "What?"

"You figured out something to do?"

"What I do with your body in the privacy of your room is my business, right? That was the deal."

Clarke has to laugh. "Did you have fun?"

"Shut up. You're not gonna be late for work because you're making fun of me. It was _your idea_. Just--shut up."

Clarke takes his hand impulsively, because--he's cute and they're dating, and it'll make Raven happy if she sees them. "So, how was your day aside from that?"

Bellamy is looking kind of dubiously at their linked hands, which is probably what she'd be doing, if their positions were reversed, so points for realism.

"Classes were fine. I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything you wouldn't do."

Clarke grins. "I got in a fight with some kid named Murphy, but Jasper said that was normal?"

It's Bellamy's turn to grin and squeeze her fingers. "Yeah? What did you fight about?"

"How a bunch of Greek dudes were banging a bunch of other Greek dudes."

"As a Classics major, I can confirm that's completely true." He's quiet until they get to the car, when he finally asks, "What exactly did Wick say about you?"

"Uh, well--I was acting weird about my ex, and I didn't know how to explain, so I just said I recognized her as-- _my_ ex. Clarke's." She makes a face. "Fucking body switching."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Fucking body switching. So you just said--"

"She used to go out with my friend Clarke. I figured he wouldn't know who I was, but he was kind of, you know."

"Yeah, I know. It's not like--" He seems to be thinking it over carefully, trying to come up with an explanation, and Clarke figures she can give him an out.

"I assume he makes fun of you about all the girls you ever mention."

Bellamy snorts. "That's definitely true." He drums his fingers on the dashboard. "You should probably just tell him we're dating. Fair's fair. I haven't even told Miller." There's a pause and he adds, "Fuck, it's weird I haven't told Miller. Give me my phone."

Clarke hands it over, smiling as he types out a message. "Raven gave me another talk about not hurting you. She wanted you to know I had two shitty ex-girlfriends."

"Who's the other one?"

"Girlfriend is a strong word. We were flirting, hooked up a couple times, and then I told her I was bi and she didn't think bisexuality was a real thing, so--yeah. Obviously that went really well."

"Obviously," Bellamy says, and hands the phone back. "That really sucks, I'm sorry."

"I guess I didn't know Raven was so protective. It's kind of cute. Unnecessary, but nice."

"Did you tell her I'd never hurt you?"

"Yeah, I told her."

"Good." He clears his throat. "How much is she gonna murder me when you tell her we broke up?"

"I'm gonna try to make sure that doesn't happen," she says, and from the way he snaps to look at her, Clarke's pretty sure he didn't miss the ambiguity there. 

But he doesn't comment on it, just puts his feet up on the dash and says, "My hero."

Wick is already behind the counter when they get in, and Clarke figures the best way to start the shift is, "Wick, this is my girlfriend, Clarke. Don't be a dick."

Wick raises his eyebrows, but Bellamy ignores the look and just says, "Nice to meet you Wick." Then he leans up to peck Clarke on the cheek. "I'm studying, come hang out when you're on break."

"Did you actually get tips from her ex?" Wick asks, somewhat incredulous, once Bellamy has gotten a table.

"No." She pauses, but they have a story, they might as well stick to it. "We actually, uh--we hooked up yesterday, I just wasn't sure it was really--" She rubs the back of her neck, like he would. "Didn't want to jinx it. But I think she likes me too."

Wick claps him on the shoulder. "Cool. That's awesome, man. She's really hot."

"Yeah," Clarke agrees, ducking her head, because it's kind of weird to be talking about her own looks. "So, what needs stocking?"

She gets a text back from Miller about ten minutes into the shift, which just says, _sweet, I want some good craft shit_. So she basically _has_ to read Bellamy's text, after that, just out of curiosity. 

It turns out he said, _You were right about Clarke, I owe you a six pack_ , and she nearly calls across the shop to tease him about it, except that would actually make no sense and draw a lot of attention, so she just stows the phone with a smile. He _definitely_ likes her.

Octavia comes in after that, stops by to say hi to Bellamy before coming to greet Clarke at the register.

"Can I sleep over at Indra's tonight?" she asks, by way of greeting. "Your girlfriend said she was hanging out anyway, so I'd just be in the way."

Clarke takes that to mean Octavia already cleared the plan with Bellamy and is just asking for appearances' sake, but she glances across the room at him anyway, and feels better when he inclines his head in assent.

"How's your homework this weekend?" she asks, just because she _is_ Bellamy. She assumes he doesn't make this shit easy for his sister.

Octavia rolls her eyes, but she can't help a smile. "Fine, and I have _the whole weekend_. Come on, Bell."

"Okay, fine. Do you need a ride? Clarke would probably take you if you asked nicely."

"Nah, it's fine. Just give me my complimentary latte and I'll be on my way."

Clarke doesn't know what Octavia drinks, so she just says, "O's usual, Wick?" and hopes it works.

She's got this being Bellamy thing _down_.

But then, just after six, when the shift is starting to drag, Wick says, "Don't look now, but your new girlfriend's ex is back."

She doesn't look, not right away, but she does check, subtly. Bellamy is reading, not paying any attention, and Lexa hasn't noticed him yet. She did show him a picture, just in case Lexa was on campus or something, but--

"I'm due for break, right?" she asks, and lets Wick take the register.

*

Bellamy's engrossed in Clarke's art history book, which is actually really interesting, when she slides in next to him at his booth.

"Break?" he asks, absent.

"Yeah." She takes his hand and leans in to press a kiss under his ear, making him shiver. "My ex just walked in and saw you."

"Fuck," he says, raising his eyes just enough to see the severe brunette--Lexa, he reminds himself, her name is Lexa--watching him, eyes narrowed.

Bellamy's day had been going really _well_ , up until this. He's a little nervous about his upcoming bartending shift, but classes went well and he basically spent the rest of the afternoon experimenting with Clarke's vibrator, which was fucking _awesome_. It's kind of criminally unfair girls don't learn more about getting themselves off. Not only did Bellamy basically find out in sex-ed, it was already pretty self-explanatory even aside from that. He should figure out if there's a non-creepy way Clarke can make sure O is set on the masturbation front.

Probably not.

Regardless, it was an awesome day. And it was kind of nice, hearing himself say Clarke was his girlfriend. He's going to have to remember that one when this is over.

He was just kind of hoping Clarke's ex wouldn't be a thing. Which was stupid; body-swaps are the ultimate in Murphy's law. Of course he's seeing her ex, how could he _not_ see her ex?

"Any tips?" he asks, giving her hand a squeeze. She's got to be way more nervous than he is.

"Do you know that Taylor Swift never ever ever getting back together song?"

"My sister is fifteen. Assume I know _all_ the Taylor Swift songs."

Clarke laughs, but moves away from him a little, like she doesn't want to look too overprotective or something. She doesn't let go of his hand under the table, though.

"Clarke," Lexa says. She's pretty, in a severe way, and more of his usual type than Clarke, honestly. He tends to like angry brunettes. But she broke Clarke's heart a little, so he hates her on principle.

"Lexa." Her eyes flick to Clarke at his side, and he figures she'd leave if she didn't want to be introduced. "This is my boyfriend, Bellamy."

Clarke offers her free hand, and Lexa shakes, giving him a wary once-over. Clarke returns the look, just as wary, and Bellamy feels a stupid wave of affection for her. It's _his_ face, but the look is all Clarke.

"You were here yesterday," Lexa says, nodding to herself. "You recognized me."

"Facebook pictures," says Clarke, easy. "Sorry, I thought it would be weird if I said hi."

"I don't disagree." She turns her attention back to Bellamy. "It is good to see you, Clarke."

"I didn't know you were back in town," he says, smooth. Clarke's good at being pissed without being completely obviously pissed.

"I wasn't sure you'd appreciate hearing from me." Her eyes flick to Clarke. "And I can see you wouldn't have."

Clarke squeezes his hand hard enough it might bruise, and he makes a note to remind her he's a lot stronger than she is. It would suck if she accidentally broke her own hand.

"What," he says, keeping his voice cool, "just because I've got a new boyfriend, I no longer want to talk to you?" He pauses and then adds, "Trust me, there are way better reasons I don't want to talk to you."

Lexa's jaw ticks, and Bellamy feels a stupid surge of pride. For all he knows, Lexa thinks Clarke was unfair, overreacted. But he doesn't care. He's always going to be on Clarke's side. Well, assuming she's fighting someone else. He figures he can still bicker with her one-on-one.

"I never meant to hurt you," Lexa says. "I didn't think you would--"

"Then why didn't you tell me you were leaving as soon as you found out? Why did I find out like I did?" Clarke only has about half her break left; he'd like her to hear this part, before she has to leave.

Lexa looks away. "I thought it would be better to spare you--"

"Bullshit," Clarke says, and Lexa looks at the guy who shouldn't really be involved in this conversation like she wants to crush him under her shoe. Bellamy just squeezes her hand again. "Sorry," she adds, not managing contrition. "I know I'm not an expert or anything, but--you fill the people you're dating in on shit like where you're moving. Not telling them isn't about them. You thought she'd break up with you."

"I take it you're always honest with her, then?" Lexa says, sounding unimpressed.

Bellamy says, "Yes," at the same time Clarke says, "To a fault." They meet each other's eyes and Bellamy can't help a smile, which Clarke returns.

"You'd be amazed how much I know about him," Bellamy can't help adding. It's kind of a dick move, but--this is _hilarious_. Unfortunately, there's no good way to explain it to Lexa, so she's just excluded from the weirdest inside joke ever.

"Then I'm glad you've found someone who makes you happy," she says, stiff.

It feels weird to give himself credit for Clarke's happiness, so he just goes with, "Thanks. It was--it's nice to see you." Clarke squeezes his fingers, so he adds, "Maybe next time will be less awkward?"

Lexa lets out a small snort of amusement. "I hope so." She glances back at Clarke. "Nice to meet you, Bellamy."

They watch her go up and order from Wick, and then Clarke drops her forehead onto his shoulder.

"You nearly broke my hand," he says, mild. "Not to brag or anything, but I'm pretty strong."

Clarke laughs and kisses his shoulder before pulling back. "Very strong. Thanks for that. I'm sorry."

"No problem." He rubs the back of his neck. "It's just getting more and more awkward for us to break up, you know."

"I know." She looks like she's going to say something else, but Wick gestures for her, and she sighs. "Right, break. I gotta go. Change into a tank top, redo lip gloss, hair's fine for the shift at the bar? I gave you the address, right?"

He has to smile. "Yeah, you did. I'll be fine, C--Bell. Look hot, show off some cleavage, flirt a little. Trust me, I know what guys are into."

"Okay. I'll see you after," she says, and leaves with one final squeeze of his hand.

Bellamy lets his head sink onto the bench, closing his eyes. She might actually _like_ him; it's a little surreal. And he's currently in someone else's body, so he knows from surreal.

He reads for half an hour more before he has to admit he has to go get ready. He goes up to get a coffee for the road from Echo, and smiles a little weakly when she points out Clarke gets the same drink Bellamy does. 

The body-switching thing cannot go away soon enough, seriously.

Alone at the house, he takes a minute to check himself in the mirror. He looks--well, like Clarke, so he looks awesome, if kind of tired. Still, he touches up his lip gloss and fiddles with his hair a little and puts on a tank top that he is supremely glad Clarke has never worn in his presence, just for his own sanity. 

No wonder she gets such good tips.

Bellamy has never actually been to a strip club before, and he's a little nervous about it. He cannot possibly imagine Clarke would be working anywhere that was exploiting anyone, but he never pictured himself as the kind of person who went to a place called "The Cat's Me-Wow." Honestly, he'd be upset Clarke had ever gone there, just because it's one of the worst names he's ever heard, but it probably does pay her pretty well, so he's not going to judge.

But the club is a lot better than the name. He parks in the back, per Clarke's instructions, and greets the bouncer, Lincoln, by name. He's giant and intimidating, especially compared to Clarke, but his smile is warm and he gives Bellamy a high-five as he passes, so Bellamy likes him on principle.

Inside, it's dark and loud, and there's a girl on stage who's mostly not dressed, but everyone is keeping their distance, and it's clean and doesn't make his skin crawl, so--bonus.

There's an Asian woman already behind the bar, and Bellamy pulls up her name--Anya, manager, black belt, Clarke is equally in awe of and terrified of her--and gives her a wave.

"Griffin," Anya says, with a nod. "Frat boys back corner table. Be prepared for bad tips and groping attempts."

"Awesome. Anything else to get excited about?"

"No, business as usual." She fixes him with a critical look. "You look tired."

"It's been a long week."

Anya nods. "Fair enough. Have some Coke and power through."

"Thanks, boss."

He's bartended at a few college events, so he's fairly competent at it. Most people don't want very complicated drinks--the complicated ones have the _girly drink_ reputation, and most of the clientele are the kind of guys who are very protective of their masculinity, so it's all gin-and-tonics and whisky-on-the-rocks and jaeger-bombs. He flirts a little, pretends the guys are smooth and charming instead of mostly drunk and semi-coherent, and has the surreal experience of having a frat guy from his Greek class trying to get his number. He ends up talking his way out of it by saying he's flattered but spoken for, which is true, and Anya tells him she's never seen a frat boy tip so well.

Murphy slinks up and gets a beer around midnight, which is honestly mostly surprising because Bellamy figured Murphy would go to a sketchier strip club. He doesn't tip at all, and Anya calls him a douche, so, honestly, it's a pretty good shift, all things considered.

He gets home at three, with less money than he expected, despite the mostly good tips. Clarke's passed out on the couch, clearly waiting for him, and he thinks about just throwing a blanket on her and taking the bed, but she wouldn't be down here if she didn't want to talk. She probably wants to hear how it went.

He sits down by her feet and shakes her ankle until she stirs up. "Hey."

"Jesus, does my voice always sound like that when I wake up?"

She smiles. "I'll keep you posted. How'd it go?"

"Fine, I think. Murphy had to drown his sorrows about your argument."

Clarke snorts. "That's why he looked familiar. I should have guessed."

"Yeah, it wasn't much of a surprise." He pauses and then says, "Can I ask something?"

"Sure."

"I'm not judging, just curious. There's no way you're putting yourself through school with this, unless you get way more tips than I did. And Anya seemed to think I did okay."

"No, I'm not." She crosses her arms behind her head so she can look at him more comfortably. "A few months before my dad died, he updated his will so I got everything. He knew he was sick, so--I guess he wanted to make sure I was taken care of. My mom's family is rich, so she doesn't need it, and most of their accounts are joint, so--" She worries her lip. "Don't get me wrong, it's still a good deal of money, but I'm going to burn through all of it on school. I know I'm still lucky, really lucky, but--"

"I did apologize for the _spoiled princess_ thing, right? You're not."

"I am. I'm just cool about it, so you still like me. And I never apologized for saying you never think about anyone but yourself, which _actually_ isn't true."

"It's fine. We both said some shitty stuff." He pets her ankle. "You should get some sleep."

"I got some sleep. You've been up for over twenty hours."

"Yeah, but I don't have to work tomorrow." 

She stands and pushes him up. "Come on. I decided we can share the bed."

"We can?"

"You're sleeping with yourself, right? You do that all the time."

He snorts. "I guess you're not wrong."

They head upstairs and get ready in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and washing their faces together, mostly so Clarke can critique how he's using the wrong soap, and then change into pajamas and slide into bed together. He thinks it might be awkward, except he's exhausted, so it's hard to experience any kind of feelings about anything.

He's almost asleep when she says, "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You know why I thought you didn't like me?"

His heart picks up. "Because I'm a dick?"

"No, I could see through that one." There's another pause and she says, "I'd ask if you wanted to do stuff with us, like--movies and parties and stuff. And you always said no. So I figured you didn't like me. I would have said yes, if you'd asked me, so--yeah. That's why."

"Oh," he says, feeling stupid. He remembers a few times, in fall semester, Clarke mentioning stuff to everyone, something to do during a time he was working, and just being so annoyed that he couldn't go he hadn't bothered saying more than no. He rubs his face. "Fuck."

Clarke laughs softly. "I didn't know you were giving up your two free nights to fight with me."

"I didn't want you to."

"Well," she says, pragmatic. "You can at least stop acting like I'm going to dump you as soon as we fix this." He feels the press of her lips against his temple, and he tries to pretend there's no stubble on her face and her lips aren't so rough. "Go to sleep."

It feels like it should be impossible, given what she just said, but apparently being up for over twenty hours trumps his crush liking him back.

He's asleep in seconds.

*

"Still Clarke?" Octavia asks, when she comes home at eleven the next morning. Clarke's on the couch trying to get some art done, since Bellamy isn't going to be going to her class this week either. It would probably be really interesting to science that she's kept her artistic ability, that she draws exactly like she does in her own body even in his. Or maybe it wouldn't be more interesting than anything about this; it's not particularly interesting that he kept his knowledge of Greek. But art feels like it should be more connected to something about _her_ , to her hands or something. Bellamy's right-handed, even, but it doesn't matter; his right hand can do the same art her left can.

"Still Clarke," she says, and Octavia flops down next to her to look at her picture.

"You're really good. Bell just does stick figures."

"Thanks. Good sleepover?"

"Yeah, it was fun. Bell's still asleep?"

"Yeah. I don't have anything today, so I figure he just won't wake up until dinner, honestly."

"Did he say if I have to go to the coffee shop or if I can hang out?"

"No, he just kind of passed out, sorry."

"That's cool. I have a stupid English paper to write, if I go with you I might actually do it. If I stay here I'll just steal Bell's Gameboy and waste the entire afternoon."

"You two are depressingly responsible, you know that?"

"If I finish the English paper today, I can slack off tomorrow. Oh, and I'm going to a dance tonight, so you and Bell can hang out with your friends like usual." She pauses. "Did you tell them about the whole--" She waves her hand

"Nope. We just told you, honestly."

Octavia grins. "Yeah?"

"You would have noticed in like five minutes, right? Even if I hadn't had to use google maps to get to your school. We're just avoiding everyone else, but it's hard to avoid someone you have sole custody of."

"Not that Bell hasn't tried. So what did you tell them?"

Clarke feels herself flush. "That we're having non-stop sex, basically."

She's expecting a laugh, but Octavia just looks at her, surprisingly somber. "Are you?"

"No. It turns out it's really, really weird to make out with yourself."

That gets the laugh. "Okay, yeah. But you're going to?"

Clarke ducks her head. "Yeah, I think so. I get the impression he's interested."

"Understatement."

"So, yeah. That's the plan. Once we get this whole--you know. Once that's sorted out, yeah. I'm planning to keep dating him."

Octavia nods. "That's good. You're pretty cool."

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

They grab lunch and leave a message for Bellamy saying where they are (Octavia) and that he should go hang out with Raven so she doesn't think her best friend is dead (Clarke). The Saturday shift, from twelve to eight, is longer than the usual four to close Bellamy has on weekdays, and Clarke's surprised that she feels the difference. Or maybe it's just that she never works as hard as he does. 

He texts at seven and says, _Raven says getting laid makes me worse at video games. I'm ruining your rep. She also says we're required to stop having sex long enough to hang out tonight, so we're heading to Monty's._

 _That's going to be a disaster_ , she texts back. _Meet you there?_

It might not go all the way to being a disaster, but it is profoundly weird. Clarke's been Bellamy for three days, and she's surprisingly used to that, but they haven't really had to pretend to be each other _together_ for any extended period of time, and that's disconcerting. It doesn't help that Bellamy does not understand how Clarke's body's alcohol tolerance works. Bellamy has to drive home, so Clarke is safe; Bellamy's body has a couple beers and then stops, as usual. But Clarke is, in Raven's words, a champion drinker, and Bellamy doesn't get that the reason she can do that is that she snacks a lot, drinks fairly low-alcohol things, and has a lot of water. Clarke has drinking a lot without getting wasted down to an art, and when Bellamy tries to go to her level, it does not go well for him.

Not that it isn't awkward before that. Their regular Saturday night crew includes Monty's friends (Clarke, Raven, Jasper, Wells) and Miller's friends (Bellamy, Harper, Monroe), and while Clarke and Bellamy usually end up sitting together to snipe at each other, they are part of still-distinct groups. So Clarke is hanging out with people she likes a lot, but never really talks to, while pretending to be their close friend.

Bellamy, obviously, deals with this by getting drunk with Raven, which works pretty well, because, just like Clarke, he is very competitive when he's drunk, so he just plays a bunch of sloppy Mario Kart and creatively swears at the TV. Miller luckily just wants to tease Bellamy about Clarke, which she's gotten pretty used to, while Harper and Monroe think it's cute and encourage her to go check on him as soon as he wanders off for darts with Wells in Miller's room.

"You like him, right?" she hears Wells asking, her concerned big-brother type, as always. "You're happy?"

"I _do_ ," Bellamy says, in a tone of some wonder. "I really like him. We're going to keep going out."

"And he likes you? Raven always said, but I was kind of--"

"He loves me," Bellamy says, and Clarke's heart picks up. At least he's keeping his pronouns straight as he drunkenly pours both their hearts out. "He can't believe it."

"You have had way too much," Clarke says, entering the room and draping herself over his shoulders. He isn't _that_ tall, but the novelty is still pretty cool.

"I probably didn't eat enough today," he says, leaning back into her. She fits in his arms really well; it's going to be great, when she can actually enjoy it the right way around.

"You didn't eat enough _here_ ," she says. "Don't you usually have a bag of chips or something?"

"Shit," he says. "I knew I forgot something."

Wells is watching them, and Clarke offers him a smile. She wished, after the first time she got her heart broken in high school, that she could have talked herself into having feelings for him, but--they're better off friends. And he's got a long-term plan to date Raven, so all's well that ends well. But she doesn't want him worrying Bellamy isn't into her.

"I need to head out soon," she tells Bellamy. They're getting Octavia from the dance at eleven, which gave them three hours of drunken debauchery. "You coming or staying?"

"Coming," he says. "Sorry, Wells."

"You can finish your game, I just wanted to warn you," she says, leaning in to peck him on the cheek.

Jasper corners him as soon as he leaves the room. "I saw you _yesterday_. I can't believe you didn't tell me."

She rubs the back of her neck. "I was still kind of in shock, honestly. Didn't want to jinx it. We wouldn't have told Raven if she hadn't walked in on us."

"There was money involved in this, Bellamy! Inquiring minds needed to know!"

"Jesus," she says. "How come you never yell at Clarke about this shit?"

"Are you kidding? She'd kick my ass. She's way scarier than you are."

It's impossible to keep a smug smile off her face at that one. "She really is."

She's expecting Bellamy to basically just pass out as soon as he gets in the car, but he seems more interested in chugging the bottle of water she got him and giggling.

"You should get drunk more, this is awesome."

"You always drink! How was I supposed to know? I was trying to be convincing."

Clarke laughs. "Sure, blame me."

He rolls his head around to look at her. "Your friends think we're cute."

"We are pretty cute. Miller wants his beer." She glances at him. "I can't believe you had a bet on this too. Jasper was telling me about theirs."

"It wasn't really a bet. He just--he said I should give it a real shot, and I said if you were into me I'd buy him a six pack. He had to buy me one that day because--I don't remember. Sports, probably."

"Why didn't you ever try?"

"I thought you hated me. And even when I thought you maybe didn't, I figured--I dunno. What does dating me look like? Our schedules suck."

"Yeah, but we can work that out. We've already got Wednesday and Saturday night and our friends will probably get if we want one of those for, you know, dates. And neither of us works Sunday during the day, so--"

"So that _was_ what you meant last night," he says, with this big, sloppy smile. Clarke wonders if she always looks so happy when she drunk-smiles. She should look that happy more. "I mean, I was, like, really sure, but we didn't get a chance to talk and then by the time I saw you today I was already kind of drunk, so--"

" _Kind of_ drunk?" she teases, and he scrunches up his face at her. It's a very education evening; she should smile more and make that face _never_. "We're totally dating as soon as we're back in our bodies. Unless you want to make out now. Are you drunk enough to ignore how creepy it is?"

"I like my dick, but it's weird when it's not attached to me." He bangs his head lightly against the headrest. "Fuck. Everything about this sounds so fucking weird. I'm just saying, it's fucking unfair that you're into me but you're also-- _me_. We have got to fucking fix this. I'm going to google so much stuff."

Clarke reaches over and squeezes his hand. She knows exactly what he means, because--it's not _his_ hand. It's her hand and it's just not the same. "So much stuff," she agrees.

"What if it doesn't wear off after a week?" he asks, voice soft. 

"Then we tell Raven. If Raven can't solve it, no one can."

He lets out a soft snort of laughter. "Yeah, okay. If we're not better in a week, Raven."

He does pass out then, and Clarke picks up Octavia and takes the three of them home by herself. She carries him up to bed for the novelty of it, because she is hoping she will stop having this many muscles sometime in the very near future. 

Bellamy Blake's body: a nice place to visit, but she doesn't want to live here.

They'll figure it out. They have to figure it out.

*

On Sunday, Bellamy realizes he is somewhat used to being Clarke. Not _really_ used to it, because when he wakes up in bed with himself he has a brief but intense moment of complete existential terror before he remembers what's happening, but it _is_ brief. And then getting dressed and going to the bathroom just feels--routine. He doesn't even check himself out that much.

He's achy and a little hungover, so he drags himself downstairs and makes pancakes and bacon and coffee, and then takes a long bath and gets himself off a couple times, which really does wonders for his entire outlook on life. He also finds a few more places where Clarke is really, really sensitive, which are going to come in handy later.

"Still Bell?" Octavia asks, when he sits down next to her with his Greek homework.

"Yeah. No sign of Clarke?"

"I heard the shower, so I assume that's her."

"Cool. How was the dance?"

"Fun. You got wasted."

"I weigh a lot less than I'm used to," he says, glaring. "Shut up."

"She said you guys are gonna date. When it stops being weird." She considers. "I'm pretty hot. I'd probably make out with myself."

"Thanks for sharing. Now imagine you're _not_ yourself. You're making out with someone you really, really fucking want to make out with. In your body. It's weird, O. Trust me."

"But you did make out."

"We were trying to figure out if it would fix it. It didn't." He rubs his face. "Anyway. I'm hungover and stuck in my girlfriend's body and you're not helping. You want me to make you pancakes or not?"

Clarke comes down while he's cooking, so he makes some for her too, and it's actually a really relaxed, normal day. Not that normal Sundays actually involve Clarke hanging out on his couch doing her homework with him, but--it _feels_ normal. It feels like something that could happen a lot. Octavia playing video games while he and Clarke snuggle and read is exactly where he wants to be with his life. Admittedly, they have to switch over to Bellamy and Octavia quizzing Clarke for the CPS visit the next day, but--that's kind of nice too. As shitty as it sounds, he's grateful that he doesn't have to do it himself. Talking to Clarke about it is surprisingly easy; he'd been kind of terrified that she'd feel sorry for him, but she mostly just seems to respect him, and not think he's blowing her off for no reason anymore. Which is a bonus.

Once everyone involved is satisfied with Clarke's CPS prep, she and Bellamy make dinner together, and he finds out she's a decent cook, aside from a bizarre aversion to _recipes_ , of all things.

"It takes the fun out of it!" she argues, grinning. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Who wants to have cooking adventures? I want to eat something that tastes _good_."

"I want to taste something that makes me feel like I accomplished something. Aren't you a rebel or something?"

"Am I? Which one of us works at a strip club and which of us is selflessly taking care of his little sister against all the odds?"

"Are we talking minds or bodies? Because if you asked anyone else which one of us is Bellamy Blake right now--"

"God. Shut up and throw some shit into the stir fry to ruin it."

Even his bar shift goes well; it's ladies' night, which means the strippers are guys, which is intellectually interesting, and most of the clientele are either girls, whom he's better at flirting with, or gay guys, who don't want to him to flirt with them. So, yeah, it's a really great Sunday, honestly. One of his best. He's not sure what that says about his life. 

Then again, when he wakes up on Monday, he's feeling less optimistic, so maybe he hasn't entirely lost it. He has class, lunch with _Clarke's mother_ , and another class to get through before he can go back home and check in about the CPS visit. And that's only for a few hours before he has to go to work.

It's going to be a very long day. Clarke may have more money than most people, but--she works hard. She's smart and capable and good and--

He rolls over and rests his forehead against her shoulder. His own shoulder. The shoulder of the body Clarke is currently inhabiting, which is a really nice shoulder, if he does say so himself, but--

"Please turn back," he says. "I wish we would turn back. I don't think she's spoiled, I think she's perfect, just--"

"I wish we would turn back too," Clarke says, groggy. "But you should tell me more good stuff about myself."

"No, it's your turn. I already said good stuff about you. You need to take your shit back. That's how magic works, right?"

"If we knew how magic worked, we wouldn't still be body switched. We'd be having sex right now." She yawns. "But yeah, you're not selfish, you're a great guy, you're taking care of your sister selflessly, I wish you were yourself again. So we could be having sex right now."

He groans. "You're not helping."

"If it had worked, I would have been helping. And we'd be having sex. But it didn't, so yeah. Go shower so I can jerk off. Your dick is a pain, by the way. If I don't get off for a few days, I'm just cranky, my clit doesn't start ruining my life."

Bellamy laughs and presses his lips against hers, out of general fondness. "Have fun with my dick."

"I'll try."

He doesn't start getting really nervous about lunch with Clarke's mom until most of the way through Clarke's art history class. They hadn't done nearly as much prep for the lunch as they did for CPS, which he'd feel bad about, except that he _tried_ to get her to give him some more instruction, and she couldn't.

"You have a script for CPS," she said. "You've done it before. Lunch with my mom is totally unfamiliar territory. And I'm sorry."

And then he'd felt bad because--on the one hand, he doesn't really want to screw this up for her, but, on the other, he's just as glad he can take this one for her, because she clearly doesn't want to. Given how she seems to feel about her mother, he doubts he's actually going to screw it up worse than she would. He doesn't have twenty-one years of weird history to deal with.

And maybe if he keeps telling himself that, he'll start believing it.

Clarke did show him a few pictures of her mother, and give her a basic rundown of her mother's background. Abby Griffin, nee Abigail Clarke, comes from a rich southern family, who, according to Clarke, were definitely assholes who made all their money from slavery, so she's just as glad she got effectively disowned, since she doesn't want their money anyway. She's one of those doctors who stopped really doing much actual doctor stuff to instead be an administrator/fundraiser/professional rich person. Clarke did _like_ medicine, but it wasn't her calling, and she's happier studying art history. She wants to teach, like he does, which makes him feel kind of stupidly warm and fuzzy. Like most things about her do.

He is sad. He knows he's sad. It's fine.

He recognizes Abby Griffin immediately, this awkward, too formal woman, out of place at the small restaurant. He doesn't feel bad for her exactly, but--he thinks she's probably trying.

Hugging her is--probably the right call. She initiates it and refusing a hug because he's not really her daughter and he doesn't really hug people much would just be even worse than hugging a stranger. So he hugs Clarke's mother and tells her it's good to see her.

Abby pulls back to look at her daughter, and Bellamy tries to look like Clarke as hard as he can. It makes his stomach twist, that it'll probably be easier to fool Abby than their friends. He's less worried about it, and that's a little sad. 

"You look good, sweetie. I'm--" It looks like she's collecting herself, and Bellamy feels guilty that he's here and Clarke isn't. That he's witnessing all these _feelings_. He's not prepared for this. He and his mom were complicated in a totally different way than Clarke and her mom are. "I'm so glad you agreed to talk."

"It felt like time," he says, which was basically what Clarke said. More or less. He offers her his best approximation of the awkward smile he's seen Clarke give a thousand times, the polite, trying-too-hard smile that most people don't see through. Her mother doesn't seem to either; she reaches over and squeezes his hand once they're seated, and smiles back at him.

"How are classes going?"

"Well," he says, gives her a few anecdotes and everything. 

"You--had the girlfriend," Abby says carefully. "Are you two still together?"

"No, we broke up." He worries his lip. "I have a boyfriend, actually. It's pretty new, but--I like him a lot. I think it's going to be something serious."

"That's great," says Clarke's mother, and it sounds like she means it. Bellamy really hopes it's not a weird biphobia thing where she pretends to supportive of Clarke's relationships with girls but really wants her to settle down with a guy. He'd kind of want her to break up with him on principle, if that was the case. And that would be a shame. "How did you two meet? Tell me more about him."

He doesn't really have any idea how Clarke would describe him to her mother. To anyone, honestly. He's pretty sure she likes him because he's a good guy covered with a thick coat of belligerent, grumpy asshole, which is good, because she's got him fucking pegged.

"He's, uh," he starts, fiddling with the straw in his water. "His name is Bellamy. He's a junior too. We had a couple classes together last year. We--" He ducks his head, smiling. "Honestly, we didn't agree on _anything_. I think he started taking the opposite position I was arguing in class just to fight with me." He's not _sure_ she knows that, but he totally did. And he assumes she figured it out, because he made some truly shitty arguments just to see the horrified look on her face. "I know that doesn't sound like a great start, but it was fun. And--it helped. After--" He feels awful talking about Clarke's dad, but this is one of the things he knows it actually _true_. "After Dad, it was nice. Everyone else was tiptoeing around me, but he didn't know, so he just kept on being an asshole."

"That doesn't sound any better," Abby says, but she's smiling a little. 

"Not, but--my friend Monty started dating his best friend at the beginning of the year, so we started hanging out and--yeah. I like him."

"That's good, honey. I'm glad." 

The waitress comes by and takes their order, and then Bellamy figures--he has to bite the bullet at some point. Clarke definitely would.

"So, what's this about, really? You didn't fly all the way down here just to get lunch with me."

"I just--I don't like that we're fighting, Clarke."

"And I don't like that you think you think my life is your decision."

"That's not what I think."

"Then explain it to me."

"I think you're making a mistake, and it's hard for me to support that. You're so smart, Clarke, you could do anything--"

"I could still do anything. I'm at a liberal arts college, I'm supposed to be studying a bunch of different stuff and seeing what I like. And that's not medicine, not for a career. It's--it's lousy of you to decide that unless I do exactly what you want, I have to be on my own. But that's what you decided, and I'm dealing with it."

"I don't want to fight."

"Fine, we don't have to talk about it. I hope you're paying for lunch, because money's a little tight for me."

"Clarke--"

"I'm doing fine," he says, and means it. He's pretty sure it's true. "But I'm not interested in acting like everything's okay between us." He pauses and adds, "And it's not about the money. I think it's fu--stupid, that you can afford to pay my way through college and you wouldn't even notice, and you won't, just to prove a point. I could be saving this money I got from--Dad." He trips over the word again and he realizes it's just that he's never fucking _said_ it before. He never had a father. He knows how to be pissed at his mom, but having a father he loves and misses is uncharted territory. "I could be in good shape coming out of college, but I'm not doing what you want me to, so I'm not. And that's what I don't get. That what I do matters more to you than I do."

He has no idea if Clarke would say any of that, and if she would, it probably sucks that he did, because now she's going to repeat herself if they ever have this conversation again. But he knows how fucking hard it is to support yourself through college, even with scholarships and loans and all the money he can wrangle from government aid programs. And Clarke's doing it just because her dad died and she and her mom were grieving in different ways.

"That's not true."

"Yeah? Then tell me how it is."

"You father would have wanted--"

"Don't make it about him. Putting word's in Dad's mouth to support your argument? That's just--don't."

"I made a mistake," Abby admits. "I thought once you'd--I thought you'd realize you were acting rashly and change your mind."

The strangest part of the conversation--including the part where he's literally someone else--is how little Clarke's mom knows her daughter. Bellamy has known Clarke for about two years, and he doesn't see her that often, but it was obvious almost immediately that the absolute worst way to make her rethink something was an ultimatum. Even if she wanted to go back to pre-med, he's pretty sure she wouldn't at this point, just to spite her mother. And somehow Abby Griffin thought the best way to convince her daughter to rethink her life choices was to pull monetary support and hope that made her change her mind.

Body switching is one thing, but that makes _no_ fucking sense.

"I don't want to be pre-med. And I don't need your help. But I can't just act like everything is fine. That was one of the worst times of my life, and I needed you and--I know you were hurting too, but--"

That was, at least, right from Clarke. More or less. Her bottom line. And it's a good one, as far as he's concerned.

"I know. I'd like--I'd like us to work this out, Clarke. I'd like to be a part of your life. Financially as well as--I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

Bellamy swallows hard, a little affected. He's still not a big fan of Clarke's mother, but he'd be happy if they worked it out. For Clarke's sake.

"Yeah," he says. "Let me--let me think it over? I need to--just give me a couple days."

"Of course. I'll be in town until Thursday." Abby worries her lip, just like Clarke does. "So, tell me more about the boyfriend. It sounds like I might have to meet him sooner or later."

"Probably sooner," he can't resist saying. He pulls out Clarke's phone and finds the selfie she took of them snuggling yesterday, which she promptly set as her Facebook profile picture. They look really cute, if he does say so himself. "I think he really likes me," he tells Abby. "It's pretty great."

*

Clarke has been keeping a list of people who have told her Bellamy looks great in his glasses, which she is planning to present to him as soon as they switch back. Contacts are probably expensive, and money is tight. She is doing him a _favor_. It's definitely a worthwhile use of her Monday morning.

He has two classes before the CPS visit, and the first is the mythology in music, which she's still sad she's not really in. Jasper sits down next to her and glares until she says, "What?" and he throws up his hands.

"You and Clarke! Tell me everything! Last time I saw you guys, I thought you were gonna kill each other."

It's nice to know guys gossip like this too. It wouldn't be fair if just her friends were over-invested busy bodies.

"Yeah," says Clarke, rubbing the back of her neck. "It was a pretty bad one, so--I went to apologize. We actually talked for once, and--" She tries out her favorite smile of Bellamy's, the wry, self-deprecating one that she doesn't get to see too often, because they're always fighting. "It turns out once we talk, we actually like each other." 

Jasper gives her a look she can't quite parse, and he finally huffs. "Like you didn't like her before."

"Okay, yeah, but--it's different," she says. "I knew she was cool, but I didn't know much about her."

"And now you do?"

"Now I do." She can't help adding, "She was--she misunderstood some things. And so did I. It was stupid. Once we figured that out, everything else kind of fell into place."

"Yeah, I bet things fell into place," Jasper says, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows.

Clarke groans and shoves him, which seems like the correct Bellamy response. "Dude, come on. That's my girlfriend you're talking about."

She's actually weirdly excited for the CPS visit, which she knows she shouldn't be. But Bellamy is so _stressed_ , like he really thinks CPS is going to look at everything he does and decide he's not good enough, despite all evidence to the contrary. He'd spent yesterday prepping her for the interview with so much detail that she's pretty sure it was actually way more rigorous than anything CPS could have done. But he was just talking to her, so he was relaxed and easy, self-deprecating as he walked her through his finances in excruciating detail. Instead of being a nervous wreck with government officials (which Octavia assured Clarke he absolutely was), he was just preparing his girlfriend for a very weird test.

And now Clarke just gets to tell said government officials that Bellamy is doing an amazing job and no one could do better. Which is totally true, and Bellamy knows it, he just doesn't know how to believe it. Clarke is pretty psyched she gets to believe it for him.

There are two CPS agents, a woman, Ms. Cartwig, whom Bellamy mentioned as being good. She's the one who first approved his custody of his sister, and she's been coming out for all of his home visits since; he's still nervous around her, but he does trust her, which is more than he said about most of the CPS agents.

The other introduces himself before Clarke can say anything, which is good, because apparently he and Bellamy haven't met, so it would have been awkward if she'd guessed he was any of the other people Bellamy had prepped her on.

"Cage Wallace," says the man, smooth, offering his hand for a shake that even Clarke knows is one of those too-firm boy handshakes that's supposed to convey he's the alpha male. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blake."

"Bellamy's fine," she says. "The pleasure's mine, Mr. Wallace. Ms. Cartwig, it's good to see you again. How's Phillip doing?"

"He's doing well, thank you for asking. Octavia seemed well, we just came from seeing her at school."

"Yeah, she's good. They had the science fair last week, she got second even though she hated her project by the end." She pulls the door open all the way and gestures them into the house. "Sorry, I'm being rude. Please, come in. Would you like something to drink?"

Ms. Cartwig raises her eyebrows at Clarke, but it seems like fond amusement rather than confusion that Bellamy is acting out of character. Clarke isn't really surprised she's used to Bellamy being a nervous wreck; Bellamy is really obviously a nervous wreck about the whole thing.

But while Ms. Cartwig is on his side, Wallace is not impressed.

"I think we should get straight to the point. You're twenty-two, Mr. Blake?"

"Yes. Twenty-three in June."

"And you've been caring for your sister for four years."

"Yes."

"That's very noble of you," says Wallace. It doesn't warrant a response, as far as Clarke is concerned, so she just fixes him with a supremely unimpressed look; those glares are a specialty she and Bellamy share. "I remember college," Wallace hastens to add, with an oily insincerity that makes Clarke want to throttle him. "I wouldn't have been happy, having to come home every night to take care of a child."

"Plenty of single parents go to college," Clarke points out. "I'm lucky that I don't have a baby. Octavia is old enough that she understands what's going on, so we can help each other out. It's not really like having a child; I have a sister."

"She helps out?" Wallace asks, like this is somehow a bad thing.

"She's fifteen. She's competent enough that she's not upset she has to hang out when I'm working. She knows I always need to know where she is and that she's okay, so she makes sure I do."

"And you trust her."

"Cage," says Ms. Cartwig, before Clarke can object herself. "I don't see how--"

"I don't either," Clarke says, keeping her voice mild. "If there's something you want to ask me, just go ahead. That's what we're here for, right?"

"I don't believe you're capable of caring for your sister," Wallace says. "I've read the files. You're--"

"I'm what? I _am_ taking care of my sister. You already talked to her, right?" she asks, addressing the question to Ms. Cartwig. When she nods, Clarke turns her attention back to Wallace. "Trust me, if she wasn't getting cared for, she'd let you know. So, stop telling me who I am. If you've got questions, ask me."

Clarke had figured Bellamy was worrying too much, but Wallace wants to hear almost all of the shit he taught her. They go over his budget in excruciating detail, and it becomes clear at some point that Wallace is sure Bellamy is somehow making money off this. Which--yeah, he gets a stipend for Octavia's care, but even if that wasn't being used honestly, as Bellamy's incredibly detailed budgeting proves it is, Clarke can't imagine he'd make more taking Octavia and pocketing the stipend than he would have just letting her go into foster care and keeping the money he gets from his jobs that he's putting aside for her college fund for himself.

On the other hand, the guy is such a clear, obvious dick that Clarke can't even lose her temper, as Bellamy might. Of course she hates him, but he's not a fun kind of dick like Bellamy is. He's just a classist asshole who thinks a poor Filipino kid couldn't possibly be taking care of his baby sister without an ulterior motive, so all she wants to do is prove him wrong. 

And she does. She has no idea how Bellamy would have handled it, but she's so indignant on his behalf that she hits a higher plane of anger, where she is just calm and controlled and logical, and it's honestly kind of awesome. She _destroys_ every one of Wallace's arguments, and it's great. Bragging to other people about Bellamy is her new favorite thing.

"I'm so sorry about him," Ms. Cartwig says, as they leave. "He was hired to _clean up_ the office," she adds, with some bitterness. "He's convinced that everyone of a certain--"

"Poor people are gaming the system," Clarke says, flat. "I get that a lot." She offers a smile. "See you next year? Hopefully without him."

Ms. Cartwig returns a small smile of her own. "Always a pleasure, Bellamy."

Bellamy swapped shifts at the coffee shop with Echo because of the CPS visit, so Clarke actually has a fully free afternoon again. She lets Octavia and Bellamy know that Bellamy is still a fit guardian, and Octavia responds that she's got a project to work on and won't be back until late. Clarke has to smile at all the details she adds for her brother's benefit--which friend she's staying with, how she's getting home, and an address, just in case--and Bellamy just responds, _Cool, O. Clarke, you can be friends with your mom again if you want_.

She's not sure what that means and doesn't want to stress herself out about it, so she just spends a while googling variations on _how to get a CPS agent fired for being an asshole_ and working on her art history paper, anxiously waiting for Bellamy to get back. She hasn't decided yet if it's worrying or cool how used she is to him being a constant presence in her life, spending most of her time either with him or checking in, but she's going with cool on the grounds that she has enough shit to deal with without worrying about how much she likes Bellamy Blake.

When he gets back around four, she's sitting cross-legged on the floor so she can work on a larger art piece, and he puts her bag on the sofa and flops down on his back next to her with a loud sigh.

"Rough day at the office?" she teases.

"I hate your English class. I hate all English classes. I read the stupid book, but I fucking hate textual analysis. There has got to be an author somewhere in history who made something red because they picked a random color, not because it was supposed to symbolize something. And your English prof just calls on people at random."

Clarke grins. "What did you say the red thing symbolized?"

He rubs his face. "I panicked and went with menstruation." When she breaks out giggling, he shoves her lightly. "Shut up. This is why I don't take English."

Clarke stretches out next to him on the floor. "Yeah, but you're a classics major. Isn't, like, every single color in _The Aeneid_ really meaningful?"

"Yeah, they all mean _Julius Caesar was the best_. That's what everything means in _The Aeneid_." He glances over at her. "CPS went okay?"

"You might have murdered them."

"That bad?"

"Ms. Cartwig was good. She had some new guy with her who thought you were scamming the government and neglecting your sister." He nearly jerks up, but Clarke puts her hand on his arm, and he settles. "It's fine. You prepped me extensively. And I already looked up how to file a complaint. How was my mom?"

"I went off on her a couple times and she says she wants to make up. I said you needed to think about it, but--I think if you want to patch it up, you probably can. I figured I wouldn't commit to anything."

"Thanks for doing that."

"Nicest meal I've had all year."

Her hand's still on his arm, so she moves it down to squeeze his hand and it's just--it's so _annoying_. She sighs and closes her eyes. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I _miss you_. I want to see you again. How stupid is that?"

"It's not," he says, sighing. "I know exactly what you mean. I want to see you too."

Later, she'll try to figure out if she knew before she opened her eyes, if she felt something profound, but there wasn't anything, no flash of light or dizzying moment of unreality. One minute she closed her eyes and she was Bellamy, and the next time she opened them, vaguely aware of _something_ , she realized she wasn't where she had been before. And then she realized that the hand on hers was larger and rougher than her hand, that hair was tickling her neck, that--

"Bellamy," she says, and it's _her voice_. "Bellamy!"

He blinks his eyes open and Clarke can't stop looking at him. It's as if she's never seen him before, and she's greedy for it. It's _Bellamy_ , the real one, and she missed him so much.

It takes him a minute to get it, but then he turns to her and grins, and he's rolling over to press his lips against hers.

She only has a few seconds to enjoy it before he pulls back, and face flushed, and says, "Sorry," in a husky voice Clarke wants to hear forever.

She laughs softly. "Bellamy," she says again, fond, and curls her fingers around his neck to pull him back in.

It's not exactly familiar, kissing Bellamy, but it's not like first kisses usually are. Not that it's actually their first kiss, but she doesn't feel like the first couple should count, given she wasn't kissing _him_.

Bellamy kisses like it's the main event for him, long and slow and deep. His hand cups her jaw, but he doesn't press in close, not until she fists her hands in the thin fabric of his button-down shirt, the one they chose together this morning because it looked responsible, and tugs him in. Then he groans and shifts, sliding on top of her, and Clarke grins against his mouth. 

"We should talk about this, right?" he asks, but instead of pulling back, he presses his mouth against her jaw, and then her neck.

"What about it? I like you. You like me. We're dating, right? That involves making out. A lot."

He laughs. "Don't get me wrong, your priorities are awesome. But--should we talk about the switching back thing?"

"We missed each other. We wanted to see each other. It makes as much sense as anything, right?"

"I just don't want to turn back," he admits. He pulls back to smile at her. "Your life isn't bad, don't get me wrong, but this is exactly how I want you."

"On the floor of your living room?" she teases.

" _You_ ," he says, all warm affection, and Clarke tugs his mouth back to hers.

"Me too," she says, tangling her fingers in his hair. "I missed you a lot."

Bellamy laughs. "This is the most time we've ever spent together. But yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

She drops her head to nose against his neck and breathes him in. The scent is familiar, of course--she's been him for five days, it would have been hard to not get used to most things about him. But it's nice, still. The good kind of familiar.

"We don't have to be on the living room floor," she points out. "We could go make out in your bed."

He lets out a ragged breath, presses his lips against her hair. "You want to?"

"This isn't going to be a thing, is it? You thinking I'm not into you. I really, really am."

"There's liking me and then there's wanting to go upstairs and get naked before I've taken you on an actual date."

"You want to go on an actual date?"

"You don't?"

"I don't care that much about, like, _dates_. I like hanging out and just--getting to know people. And we've been doing that all week."

"All you really had to say was, _yes, Bellamy, I want to get laid_."

She grins. "Yes, Bellamy, I want to get laid," she says, obedient, and he stands and sweeps her up in his arms. 

"You know you have no upper body strength, right?"

"Yeah, but boobs," she points out.

He laughs. "Yeah, okay. But I like them better on you."

His bed feels larger in her own body, probably in part because he's not in the bed with her. He puts her down and just looks at her for a long moment, until she has to laugh. "What?"

"You've been in my bed all week and this is the first time I get to see it," he says. "I'm appreciating."

"Appreciate with your shirt off," she says.

Obedient, he unbuttons the shirt and shrugs it off, and then he slides back on top of her, kissing her again. Clarke hasn't really interacted with his back, so she slides her hands over the unfamiliar planes of it, feeling the smooth skin over muscle.

"I'd ask what you like, but I kind of know," he says, sliding his hands under her shirt to get it off too.

"Yeah? What do I like?"

She's actually surprised when his mouth immediately goes to her earlobe, licking and then tugging with his teeth, because it took her way longer than five days to figure out she was into that.

"Fuck, did you just touch me everywhere?"

"You said I could," he says, sounding smug as he slides his leg between hers so she can grind against him.

"Yeah, but--"

"I wanted to be ready," he says, and one of his hands goes under her bra to play with her nipple. Clarke's never managed particularly satisfying stimulation of both those areas at once, and the noise she makes would be embarrassing if she didn't assume Bellamy had heard all her sex noises by now.

"I feel like I should have done more research now," she says. "But it was harder _not_ getting you turned on, so--"

He laughs. "Yeah?"

"You're hot, okay? And I kept thinking about getting to touch you."

"Mm," he says, nuzzling her jaw. "So touch me."

She flips them over so he's under her instead, grinning, his hair a mess. She still can't quite get over just _looking_ at him, his smile and the small scar over his lip and his freckles, all these things she saw every time she looked in the mirror and just wanted to see when she talked to him.

"I have a list of people who said you looked nice in your glasses," she says, removing said glasses and putting them carefully on his bedside table.

"They were probably just being polite."

"I like your glasses. And I'm your girlfriend, so my opinion counts extra."

He slides his hand into hair and pulls her back down. It's the kind of kiss that makes her forget what else is happening, long and deep and slow, _loving_ , and she has to remind herself she wants to get him naked.

Her fingers fumble with his jeans, and he rubs his thumb over that weird spot on her side that makes her legs turn to jelly, like he's just trying to prove he can.

"Jesus," she says, laughing. "No wonder you looked so happy after I caught you getting off."

"You didn't catch me, I was done. I was basking."

"So, which one is better? Girl orgasms or guy orgasms?"

Bellamy laughs and pushes his boxers off too. "Girl orgasms, don't brag. But mine are way less work."

"I like your dick," Clarke says, leaning back to look at him. "It's pretty great."

"Oh good. I was kind of worried about. Familiarity breeds contempt, you know? Once you've been me, you never want to fuck me."

"Nah, I want to fuck you so much more," she says, kissing under his jaw. It's rough with stubble because shaving is still kind of awkward. She's good with that too.

"Thank god," he murmurs, and unhooks her bra. "Still easier to take these off than put them on."

"Well, you don't have to worry about it anymore," she says, leaning back in for another long kiss. Bellamy's hand tangles in her hair and he rolls them over again, pressing her down into the bed, his dick hard between her legs. She has to grin.

"What?" he asks, sliding his mouth down between her breasts.

"It's really awesome not being visibly turned on anymore."

"Seriously, stop bragging," he says, pressing a wet kiss to her breast. "I still like my dick. And you still like my dick, so we're good." He nuzzles her. "Do you want--what do you want?"

Clarke lets her fingers tangle in his hair again. There's no reason it should feel better between her own fingers than it felt between his, but it _does_. Just knowing it's his, and he can feel her touching him. It means something. "I don't even know how to decide." She slides her hand between his legs to grasp his dick, and that's different too, her own hand smaller than his, the angle different, and he drops his head onto the pillow next to hers.

"You're fucking awesome," he says.

"So I hear." She wets her lips. "I didn't actually look for condoms. Do you have any?"

"Uh, no." He laughs. "Shit. I figured I wouldn't buy any so I wouldn't--you know, with O, it seemed safer to just not keep any around so I wouldn't be tempted to bring girls home."

Clarke has to laugh. "Does it work?"

"Obviously not. You're here, right?"

"Those were pretty extenuating circumstances." She licks her lips. "Are you clean?"

"Yeah, but--"

"But?"

He laughs, and Clarke can feel his cheeks heat against her shoulder. "I really, really don't want to get you pregnant."

"I was just thinking oral."

"Oh. Yeah, that, uh--I could live with that."

"Live with it, huh?" Clarke teases. "Well, if it's gonna be that bad--"

Bellamy bites her shoulder, just hard enough to sting a little. "Shut up. I'm trying to be cool."

"Yeah, don't. You're really bad at being cool, so--" His hand slides down, fingers flirting with her clit, just enough to make her gasp, and he tugs her earlobe with his teeth again.

The noise she makes is really, really embarrassing.

"Thought so," Bellamy says, smug, and presses his lips against her jaw before he slides down to settle himself between her legs. "Couldn't try this part out," he adds, and then he's replacing his fingers with his mouth, sucking gently.

"Fuck," Clarke breathes. She doesn't actually know anything about his relationship history, she realizes suddenly. He knows about Lexa and a little about her other relationships, but--well, clearly he's not inexperienced, but Clarke sort of wonders if he's actually _dated_ much.

Then he slides two fingers inside her, and she stops being able to wonder about that. His mouth is hot and wet, insistent, and he definitely practiced with his fingers because the first arch of them is perfect, right up against her g-spot, and she should probably just marry him now, because it would suck to go back to dating a guy who's never been in control of her body for a few days.

"You're going to be so disappointed when I blow you," she manages, and she feels his soft laugh right against her.

He doesn't let up at all after her first orgasm, and by the time he does, she's nearly boneless, wrung out from pleasure. He slides back up to nuzzle her neck, and she summons enough strength to roll against him.

"You probably should have kept my body," she says. "Obviously you did a great job with it."

"Like I said, I like it better on you," he says.

Clarke manages to grab his lube and slick up her fingers. "Are you going to be heartbroken if I just jerk you off and pass out?"

He snorts. "It's like 4:30 in the afternoon."

"It's been a long week," she says, and wraps her fingers around him. She did at least figure out a few tricks when she was jerking him off, and she flicks her thumb just the right way to make him groan, plays with his balls a little, and makes out with him wet and dirty until he comes with a moan of her name. It's maybe not the best hand job she's ever given, but she's got time to perfect the technique. And he did basically reduce her to a semi-liquid state, so it's his fault.

"Next time I'll blow you," she promises, wrapping her arms around him once she's wiped off her fingers.

He laughs softly and kisses her hair. "You're good," he assures her.

They doze in each other's arms for a while, Clarke feeling warm and safe and relaxed, and better than she has in months, if not years. She's sort of idly wondering about food or round two, when she feels his lips brush her temple. "You remember you've got work, right?"

"Fuck," she says, burying her face against his neck. "It's Monday, isn't it? I totally forgot."

"You had an eventful day," he says, tugging her closer. His arms are huge and she fits against him perfectly, like she knew she would. "But, yeah. I assume you need to eat and it's already almost six."

"You know, I've never called out. Not once."

"You really want to ruin your streak?"

"I was someone else for five days," she says. "It could be contagious."

"Sure it could." He slides away from her, and she watches him get dressed with shameless interest. It's not quite as good as the reverse, but she can't help a grin when he puts his glasses back on. "Your call," he says, leaning down to kiss her. "But I want dinner either way."

Clarke is sleepy and happy and mostly wants to never leave Bellamy's bed, but she knows that isn't a realistic goal. Instead she finds her clothes and pulls them on, and calls to see if she can swap for Maya's Wednesday shift.

It just makes sense. If Bellamy's going to be working Wednesday anyway.

*

It is really, really difficult for Bellamy to get out of bed on Tuesday. His body wakes him up at six-thirty because it hates him, and feels guilty leaving O to get ready for school alone. But it's hard to convince any part of him that he should go downstairs and make food when Clarke is asleep in his arms, her legs tangled with his, her hand right over his heart. It is such an improvement over existential panic.

But he's hungry and he should probably tell his sister he's back in his own body instead of just staring at his sleeping girlfriend-- _girlfriend!_ \--all morning. So he finds his pajama pants and a t-shirt and puts on his stupid glasses and goes downstairs to fight with the waffle maker. It's definitely a waffles occasion. He has his own body and a girlfriend. It's the most waffles occasion.

Octavia comes in while he's doing the batter and gives him a once over, like she's trying to guess if he's still Clarke. "You're going to need to learn how to put in contacts if this doesn't wear off soon."

"My girlfriend really likes the glasses," he says, and grins when her jaw drops. "It wore off yesterday."

Octavia throws herself into his arms, and he hugs her back. She'd done fine with it, but--he knows it was fucking weird for her too. He owes her for being so cool about it.

"What did you do?"

"Sex, basically immediately," he says, just to be a dick, and she punches him in the chest before pulling away to get bacon going.

"You're an asshole," she says. "What did you do to fix it?"

He ducks his head, flushing. "She said she wanted to see me. I said I wanted to see her too. You would have been disgusted."

"I can still be disgusted. Is she still here? Is she moving in?"

"Yeah, you need a mother. Don't be a brat."

"But she's still here, right?"

"She's still here."

"Cool. Good job turning a literally impossible situation into a hookup."

He offers his hand and she high-fives him, and they make breakfast in silence for a few minutes until Clarke comes down. Bellamy leans down to give her a kiss, just because his life is still really exciting.

"Did you know all the shirts you packed for me show off a ridiculous amount of cleavage?" she asks.

"I did, yeah. They're your shirts," he adds. "It's not like I went out and bought them for my own benefit. I was just taking advantage of the situation."

"Touché." She gives Octavia a shy smile. "Is it weird I feel like I should introduce myself?"

"Weird is really relative right now," Octavia points out. She offers her hand anyway. "Hi, I'm Octavia. You're dating my brother?"

"As promised, yeah."

"Cool. Be nice to him. He's fragile. Doesn't date much. Kind of a weird hermit. Total nerd. Really awkward. Snores a little."

"You know, I was gonna give you a ride to school, but--"

"I take it all back. He's the perfect guy. You should marry him."

Clarke laughs. "How about we start with breakfast and go from there? Can I help?"

They put together a pretty decent breakfast between the three of them, and after they drop Octavia off at school, Bellamy drives Clarke back to her dorm. She picked up her stuff, and Bellamy gets it, he does, but--he is going to kind of miss having her around.

"Thanks for a very weird five days," she tells him, lingering by his car when it's time for them to part ways.

"Why are you thanking me? I didn't do this."

"You were the one who said I wouldn't last a week in your life. You totally started it."

"I did no--"

She presses a kiss against his mouth. "You did. And I'm really glad. And now I have homework to catch up on. I'll call you later."

It's not that he doesn't believe her, but he's still sort of anxious, not sure what the two of them look like now that they don't have to be coordinating their lives all the time. It's pathetic, he knows, but he did get used to her. And he knows just how busy they both are.

Then she comes into the coffee shop at four-fifteen with her laptop and leans across the counter for a quick kiss.

"Did you know this is a great place to study?"

He can't stop grinning. "I've heard that, yeah."

She gets a chai latte and goes over to sit with Octavia, which makes him feel way warmer and fuzzier than he ever wants to admit.

"So, is your girlfriend going to be a regular now?" Wick asks.

"That's the plan," says Bellamy.

He could probably get used to this too. He's willing to give it a shot.


End file.
